


Until My Days are Done

by alesdaer



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, M/M, MGiT, Mental Health Issues, Modern Girl in Thedas, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesdaer/pseuds/alesdaer
Summary: Emma Clarke finds herself in the Dragon Age world as it marches steadily toward the Fifth Blight. Unable to determine how she got there or how she can get home, she joins the king's army with only one goal in mind: join the Grey Wardens and save the whole damn world.
Relationships: Alistair (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Male Amell/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Male Cousland/Anora Mac Tir, Male Cousland/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Emma is my original character. This story features multiple potential player characters in Warden and non-Warden roles. Emma is 23 or 24 in this story. Alistair is 20. Elissa is 17 and Aedan is 19. 
> 
> A special "thank you" to my wife for proof-reading and generally ensuring that this work has appropriate wording and punctuation.

They made it to Ostagar after a full month and a half of marching — Emma reflected that the one thing that the game had neglected to mention was that the country of Ferelden was a massive expanse of freezing tundra and evergreen forests. The temperature in the early throes of spring was hovering around 45 degrees fahrenheit during the middle of the day, and so cold that there was ice inside her tent each night. The army awoke each day to find their gear and supplies coated in frost. Each morning she would stumble into her boots and armor, struggling to link together the ridiculous buckles with stiff fingers. It still took her three times as long as any other soldier. Her shield was so heavy that bringing it up to bear was physically taxing to her back and shoulders. She managed to cut herself on her sword twice, but she knew that her survival depended on being able to find the Grey Wardens and survive long enough to join. For this reason alone, she threw herself into drills each morning and evening. Every moment of sparring available was an opportunity to redeem her chances of survival in her own mind. Mortal danger was an impressive motivator.

The towns that they passed often meant a reprieve — many of the soldiers around her were just as raw as she was, and they all missed their own homes bitterly. The availability of a tavern and a bit of music was like air to a drowning man. They would flood the closest space that could provide light and warmth, often drinking themselves into uncouth behavior. More than a few were forcefully removed from one or two of the hamlets that they passed through. It never seemed to bother them. They would sleep it off and repeat the whole process at the next tavern, bar fights and all. 

Emma chose to remain in her tent on those nights. She would huddle in her furs and do her best to remember all of the yoga that had been drilled into her head from an early age. Each breath in would take her absolute focus, and each movement required precise positioning to finally unbunch her shoulders enough to sleep. The hike to Ostagar had destroyed her fat reserves. Her last doctor’s appointment had pegged her at 28% body fat six months ago. She had to be well below that now. Before, she would have been overjoyed at the new definition in her arms and abdomen. In reality, she was simply ravenous and sore. She forced herself to chew through her rations mechanically each night to avoid vomiting them up later on. Once she managed to choke down enough hard tack and water that her stomach was no longer cramping, she would drop into her bed roll and begin the mental gymnastics involved in convincing herself to stretch. She would have killed something for a single dose of ibuprofen. Maybe several somethings.

She surreptitiously ignored the men and women around her. She didn’t want to get attached to them — she didn’t want to know their names for the rest of her – potentially very short – life. Knowing that they were all marching into a battle that would end in slaughter was a piece of information she kept back in the furthest corners of her mind. Every time one of the soldiers around her would tell a joke, start a story, or laugh at some jape, she would push away the knowledge that these were people. She would bury the knowledge that these were people marching to their deaths. 

She resigned herself to marching through Ferelden and making a desperate bid for the Grey Wardens — she didn’t have much faith. She had no usable skills in this era and knew very little about the political and social climate outside of the characters presented in the game. She was clutching at straws, but she kept that fact filed away much like the humanity of the people around her. She had to focus. She had to succeed, and if she did succeed she could work out the rest of the details as she went. A quiet voice in her head would occasionally add that the personal glory of saving Ferelden would be extremely satisfying. She didn’t have the heart to stuff that voice too far back. She was a fire sign. She was supposed to crave attention even when that attention was – apparently – suicidal.

The marching and painful days had become routine by the time that Ostagar finally showed its bloody face on the horizon. The other members of her company had stopped trying to engage her in conversation by that time. She recognized a few of the names in a vague way, but she wasn’t sure if that was because they were characters that she knew or simply names that were common. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know.

Even though Ostagar loomed in the distance, it would take them another week of walking to actually reach it. Each morning the winding trail of people around her grew more quiet. No one was happy to be there. King’s orders be damned. Even the officers with their flashing armor stopped hassling them. They all knew that they were marching to face monsters. It surprised her that no one ever bolted. Hell, it surprised her that she hadn’t bolted. The punishment for desertion was hanging, though. She couldn’t really argue with that. Also, where the hell was she going to go? They were near the wilds now. The closest village was Lothering, and she couldn’t – for the life of her – actually remember how to get there. 

The morning before they entered the keep, dark clouds crowded overhead and dumped torrents of rain on the ground. The roads were mostly cracked and overgrown flagstones which quickly became slick with mud. There was no drainage at all. Whoever had built these roads originally — some part of her mind tried to remind her that it had been the Tevinter Imperium — had sunk the foundations into the ground. Over time those foundations had sunk further down and now acted like a stream bed. Proverbial rivers ran down either side. Everyone was soaked and miserable. When they struck the main road leading into Ostagar it wasn’t much better. The road here had been cleared of debris, but the number of horses and hounds using it meant that a mix of mud and dung now caked their boots. The smell was horrendous. 

At some point it occurred to her that they must be arriving well ahead of the actual battle — the keep was impressive from a distance, but the closer they got the shabbier it appeared to be. Barricades were still in the process of being erected and fresh mortar was everywhere. When they finally stumbled into camp it was to discover that neither the king nor the Grey Wardens had arrived yet. Just her luck.

They were thrown into the valley in a rush to set up tents and start helping with the repairs — drills never stopped which Emma was grateful for. Every practice blow she blocked made it easier to believe that she might actually survive this. They were all given repairs to help with and scouting schedules to handle. Apparently, someone had thought it would be clever to mix up the platoons for scouting missions. Emma was grouped with a gaggle of fresh soldiers who didn’t know to ignore her yet. Though someone had obviously tipped some of them off. When the first, a dark-skinned woman younger than Emma, asked her where she was from, her companion elbowed her in the side with a hiss. That ended the chatting pretty decisively. 

Their scouting missions were uneventful this early in the spring, but the closer they crept to summer the more monsters were sighted. Adrenaline swamped her nearly every moment she spent outside of the fortifications of Ostagar. The migraines that came after were also entirely unwelcome. She was actively grateful for all of the physical work she was doing each day. It meant that she ended up sleeping like the dead nearly every night. 

During one scouting mission toward the end of Cloudreach — this was the month according to the people around her, she kept quietly thinking of it as April – she began to notice new growth from the dormant plants they passed. Some part of her was curious if the plant life here would match the real world at all. Crocuses – the first flower of spring – were her favorite, and the idea of seeing one was almost overwhelmingly exciting. A small, familiar link to her home felt like a lifeline. Instead of crocuses, however, the flowers that came up were small and white with a blood red center and petals that folded out like a daffodil trumpet. She faced her first one with some disappointment. She had no earthly idea what it was. It was possible that it was a real world flower that she simply didn’t recognize or something entirely fictional just for the game. Regardless, she had a moment of deja vu each time she passed one. It had been long enough since she played the first game that she gathered a few and stuck them in her belt to dry. It couldn’t hurt to keep them and maybe they would be good for something after all. 

The day that the king arrived came more quickly than she anticipated. She stood with the rest of the army to line the roads and welcome him in. She wasn’t actually going to do much welcoming, but she did want to see the Grey Wardens arriving. If she was lucky, Duncan or Alistair would be with Cailan. The fanfare of the event seemed unwarranted, but it was probably good for morale or some shit like that. People were jostling her forward and backward as they moved as close as they could to the prancing horses without getting trampled.

Near the very end of the column was a silver helmet that she recognized — the tall griffon wings swept back from the head of a single man in blue studded armor. The griffon emblazoned on his chest left little doubt to who he was, and the proud procession of additional men and women in blue that followed made her stomach roll. 

This was it — these were the Grey Wardens. 

\---

Her first miserable night in Denerim she resolved to reach the Wardens — the recruiter in front of her was talking, going on at length about the glory of battle and victory. She didn’t hear him. She felt stretched and thin. Maybe this was how thread felt when being shoved through the head of a needle. She was shivering and cold, hungry and frightened. All of that was distant now. The knowledge that she would need to join the king’s army and find the Wardens was a fire burning in her belly. It pushed back the shock and gave her the tools she needed to focus. She just had to focus. She held out her hand for the pen. “Where do I sign?”

\---

Alistair was bloody exhausted — his brothers had been called upon to escort the mages from their tower in the center of Lake Calenhad. A contingent of templars had joined them to escort the seven mages down the king's road and into the ruins of Ostagar. It turned out that Grey Warden mages didn’t much care for templars and templars didn’t care much for anyone not under their jurisdiction. The whole trip had been a trial. It didn’t help that every step closer to the horde brought on nightmares that grew steadily worse. He was looking forward to arriving and – frankly – being able to escape the whole lot of them – templars, mages, and wardens.

He knew they were arriving well after the king and months after the actual army — still, the sight of Ostagar itself rising up from the pitted stones of the king's road was a marvelous one. The walls had been expertly patched and each row of soldiers’ tents was visible from the bridge. Perfect rows of fires and canvas were arrayed beneath him almost to the tree line. He couldn’t help but marvel at the sight.

The moment they set foot beyond the gates the general bustle swept away most of their group — wardens scattered to the east and the templars escorted their charges west. Alistair fell in behind his brothers with a sigh and dared to dream of a hot meal. The smell of cooking fires drew them all forward. They’d stopped to eat their noon meal only a handful of hours before, but Alistair knew that every one of them was just as starving as he was. 

He was passing by the kennels when he looked up — a flash of something red had caught his attention, and it took him a long moment to realize that it had been the hair of the woman currently chatting with a man who could only be the kennel master. Most of the women he knew kept their hair cut short or else tightly bound. This woman – soldier – had her hair tied back in a tail that flashed red in the weak sun. Beyond her Alistair could see several mabari in individual kennels through gaps in the fencing. Most of the kennels were empty. The mabari that were present were mostly sleeping — one particular creature was curled into a tight ball balefully watching the kennel master. He looked bad. Alistair could see fresh stitches across his back, and he was panting loudly. 

“He’s ill,” a voice at his elbow commented. Alistair looked over in time to see the woman lean against the fence beside him. She was armored like any foot soldier and carried her sword and shield buckled to her back. Her hair was auburn, it seemed, not quite red. “He just received a dose of medicine, but we don’t know if he’ll survive.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Alistair asked, turning back to the dog.

“He swallowed a lot of dark spawn blood,” the woman explained she turned toward him and Alistair mirrored her stance. “He also took a shriek's claws to the back. Poor thing’s been like this ever since.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Alistair asked. The woman tilted her head slightly to one side. She had brown eyes, or perhaps they were hazel?

“The kennel master just dosed him with a concoction to fix him up with the herbs I gave him.” She pulled a number of small dried flowers from a pouch at her belt and showed him the pale petals with a red center. “I picked these up on the way to Ostagar.”

“That’s pretty lucky, then,” he told her.

Her expression was briefly amused and then she shrugged. “Yeah. Lucky.” 

Alistair let the silence stretch for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to this soldier. He didn't consider himself a terribly charismatic man and no one in their right mind would consider him a leader of anything at all. Duncan would expect him to represent the Order, however. He could practically feel the man frowning behind him.

Resolute, he held out his hand, “I’m Alistair, by the way. I just arrived with the other Grey Wardens, and the mages from Lake Calenhad.” 

She returned his handshake readily enough with a surprisingly strong grip. “I’m Emma. Emma Clarke.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Clarke? That’s not a Ferelden name. Where do you hail from?”

She looked away for a moment. “Denerim most recently, but I grew in Honnleath.” 

Alistair nodded sagely. He knew vaguely where Honnleath was. He even knew another Templar recruit who hailed from the town. Well, knew was a strong word. Had once played against and been soundly trounced by in a game of chess was more accurate. Anyway, she certainly sounded Ferelden. 

“What brought you to Ostagar, then?” He leaned forward genuinely a bit curious. 

Her face flushed for a moment, and he found himself thinking that she was actually rather pretty. Beneath all the freckles. 

“Nothing like a soldier’s fortune to either actually bring fortune or leave you dead on a field somewhere.” She shrugged but her face was still blazing. She shifted her weight to the other foot. “Actually, I was rather hoping to speak with the Warden Commander.”

This caught him off-guard for a moment. “Why is that?”

She took a deep breath and brought her eyes up. Definitely hazel. “I want to be a Warden.”

He was, first of all, rather surprised by that considering the generally cold treatment the Wardens had received from Ferelden so far. Second, he found himself entirely out of his depth with how to respond. He glanced around hoping one of his seniors might be within shouting distance. Finding no one he considered his options. 

“The Warden Commander is currently away on business for the king,” he replied as neutrally as possible. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to speak with him until his return some weeks hence.” He watched her face for any kind of change. She just stood there waiting. He squared his shoulders and tried to look a bit more important than he felt at that moment. She was momentarily taken by a coughing fit but seemed to resolve it quite quickly. She was even smiling a little when she turned to face him again. “You’re welcome to address your request to one of the senior Wardens in the camp. I doubt you will be turned away. As long as you can hold your own with a weapon there’s a decent chance they’ll give you the opportunity.” He swallowed. “Though, I hope you understand that becoming a Warden is a life-long commitment. Any family or possessions or inheritance are forfeit.”

She smiled again, "That's what I was hoping for."

Trepidation seized him for a moment, and he found himself sizing her up again. Could she be a slave or a criminal on the run? Was she an apostate? No. He doubted any apostate would voluntarily place themselves so close to a camp that contained templars. She could certainly be a criminal, but she didn't really fit the bill. Not that he'd ever met a hardened criminal, to his knowledge, one didn't really ask about that sort of thing in the Wardens, but she seemed too soft for that. She didn't have a single scar that he could see, and all of her teeth were even and white. Rather unnaturally white, actually.

"You're a nobleman's daughter, aren't you?" The question left his mouth before he could think better of it. "A knight, I take it?"

She looked well and truly baffled by this. Alistair felt his own cheeks flame and ducked his head. Clearly, he had guessed wrong. "I'll take that as a "no", then?"

She recovered and resumed her slightly smiling expression. "No. I'm not a noble. Why do you ask?"

This wasn't really a question he felt comfortable answering.  _ Well, I decided to be momentarily very interested in your teeth and your skin and appearance in general. I've never really seen a soldier with hair like yours. Also, there aren't that many women fighting for the king so you really do stand out a bit. Not that I’m some drooling lecher or anything — _ he coughed into his glove. "Stupid guess was all."  _ Right. Great recovery, Alistair. _

She raised an eyebrow, but let his comment stand.

\---

Her encounter with Alistair was her first and, sadly, only opportunity to speak with the Warden over the next few weeks. As more and more darkspawn rose in the Wilds, more and more soldiers were being sent out to keep an eye on the hoard. That, on top of the ever present need to continue training and patching up the keep, kept her moving from dawn until she dropped into her bedroll well into the night. Perhaps she should have told him she was a knight after all. Maybe that would have allowed her better access to the Wardens and an easier time in the Wilds. She was irritated by the missed opportunity. There were no options to reload the conversation this time.

She had been lucky so far — she wasn't the only green recruit and good nutrition had even given her a slight advantage over similar men and women with no training. She was a runner, and had been since high school, which had built up her endurance over the years and constant drills had built her arm strength quickly. Scouting had only ever brought them within sight of the darkspawn thus far. They weren't permitted to engage yet. They were just there to keep an eye on the horde’s movements. To be honest, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Alistair said that Duncan was expected to arrive in the next few weeks. That should mean that the real Grey Warden recruits should be arriving soon as well, and then the trouble would begin in earnest.

Emma was contemplating all of this in the back of her mind while she and several other soldiers crept between the trees some miles south of Ostagar. They had been patrolling this route for nearly a week now with slight changes to the path each time to avoid an ambush. The officer leading them was a grizzled old knight who liked to smoke a foul smelling pipe whenever they stopped for a break. Though, with the Wilds and the swamp it frequently turned into all around them, the smell was hardly noticeable. 

Their route had been clear all week — several groups of darkspawn had been seen to the east where the Wilds melted into the Brecillian Forest. This didn't stop the men in charge from sending them out every possible direction to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them. She had to trust their strategy. She had no fucking clue how battle tactics were supposed to work, and she honestly hoped she wouldn't need to learn just yet. Let whoever became Warden Commander handle all of that. All she needed to do for now was survive. 

_ Somewhere in all this is something like shock. _ The thought was not a new one. She was intentionally avoiding any clever thoughts about her mental state or about her actual reality. She was sure that some part of her still believed this was a dream, but considering the very real pain and irritation that she felt on a pretty constant basis that idea was highly suspect.  _ Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. _ She stopped a moment to roll her shoulders and generally try to release the tension in her back built up by hours of walking half-crouched through the brush.  _ I just need to make it through the battle. I can worry about plausibility later.  _ This general method of pushing everything back into the door it spilled out of in her mind worked reasonably well. It was a habit she had been using for most of her life as it was. 

She dropped back into her scouting stance and saw that the rest of her team had continued to press steadily forward — in that exact moment she saw something odd. One scout just seemed to drop. Literally. He was upright and scanning with that half-hearted awareness of the truly tired and the incredibly bored, and then he was on the ground a moment later without any sound at all. 

This all took a long moment to process, and Emma stopped short just as the scout’s body seemed to sink into the mud beneath him. For a moment, she stared dumbly even as the other men and women ahead of her kept moving. The scout had been near the back, directly between her and the rest of the party. 

Now several figures seemed almost to materialize out of the ground near the fallen scout, and began to advance down the path toward the others. Emma felt her stomach drop into her toes. She knew what these were. She had seen them at a distance dozens of times now. 

The smell hit her and the moment it did all thoughts of warning the people in front of her fled her mind — her stomach heaved up from her toes and tried to crawl into her throat. She froze absolutely. What skin she could see on the creatures was scarred, traumatized, and streaked with dried blood. Rusted and dented armor covered most of their bodies. It too was damaged and streaked in blood. She was inordinately grateful that she couldn’t see their faces.

She stood absolutely still as the people in front of her finally took note of their missing companions, and the monsters coming up their flank. Steel rang out but the first screams followed quickly after. 

Emma didn’t think. She just ran.

\---

She didn’t stop running until she reached the gates of Ostagar and stumbled through them — the officer at the gates didn’t even give her a second glance. She slipped inside and forced herself to walk the winding pathway to her tent in the valley proper. Once inside she stood stock still for a single moment before wrenching her armor off her body and dropping it loudly to the ground.

The after-shocks of the adrenaline seemed to hit her all at once. Her hands were shaking as she pulled at the various buckles. She closed her eyes as her breathing became suddenly shallow and difficult. Long waves of tingling nausea crept over her and made all the hair on her scalp stand on end. Her mind was dashing madly as her heart rate climbed alarmingly. Feeling like she might vomit, she dropped down to her bedroll and rolled onto her back trying to lay completely still. A lump rose in her throat as she started counting breaths waiting for the moment when she couldn’t breathe anymore. 

That moment never came. It seemed both a very long time and a very short time before her heart rate seemed to sputter and drop back to a normal rate. She felt sick even as she pushed up onto her elbows. Her skin was streaked in cold sweat, and she was freezing. Distantly, she wondered if she had just had a heart attack. Honestly, that seemed perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances. She didn’t really know much about heart attacks other than the fact that it was pretty common for women to ignore them. She knew that she was supposed to take aspirin, but where she was supposed to get that in Thedas, she had no idea. 

She lay propped up on her elbows for a long moment before her stomach began to cramp uncomfortably. Irritation took its place at the front of her mind and she checked her underclothes for telltale spots of blood. Of course. Her period always managed to appear at the worst possible time. With the exception of her very first month here, she hadn’t had a normal cycle. Stumbling around her tent, she pulled clean linens out of a pack and lined her underwear with them as strategically as possible. She then recovered her boots and a much-patched jacket before leaving her tent behind. 

The camp swirled around her just as it had when she had left yesterday morning — cooking fires drew her forward on feet that still felt a bit clumsy and numb. She took a sausage and a bread round from one of the many people bundled around the fire and retreated back a ways. Her body felt utterly wiped, and she didn’t think she could handle anyone asking her questions right now. 

She knew that she should report the darkspawn sighting to an officer, but doing that would require acknowledging what had just happened. She also had no idea if any of the people in her scouting party had lived through the attack. Perhaps they were, all of them, making their way back to Ostagar right now, or maybe they were dying slowly in the dirt unable to move — 

_ No. Stop it. _ She filed the thoughts away violently. She was exhausted but not so exhausted that she was going to let her imagination run away with her. 

There was one serious consideration that did stubbornly hold on to its place in her thoughts — if anyone in her scouting party returned and found her here, she would be treated as a deserter. It had been made clear to them time and again that the king had no use for men and women who could not stand and fight. An army that broke ranks the moment they sighted the enemy wasn’t an army at all. 

She made herself eat the rest of her meal before leaving — there was no adrenaline curling in her stomach just yet. She was still too tired for that, but she knew that it wouldn’t be far off. Running might be her best – and only – choice, but even assuming that she escaped without them catching her what would she do then? Lothering would be overrun by darkspawn soon and even a walled city like Redcliff would eventually fall to the darkspawn, not to mention the undead army. Denerim was out of the question since it would be the sight of the final battle. Highever, maybe? Howe probably controlled it by now which meant that Castle Cousland would have been attacked but the actual city would be safe, right?

It didn’t even occur to her that the only thing she could do in a city was beg on the streets and starve to death at this point. 

Similar thoughts carried her across the camp and – from habit – to the kennels. The kennel master was inside with his charges when she walked up, and the dogs perked up as she approached sniffing the air. 

One hound with what were now old claw scars across its back jumped up and began barking loudly. Emma’s shoulders snapped together, and she took a wary step back. The kennel master’s head came up, and he grinned. “Your friend recognizes you.”

“My friend?” Her eyes never left the large hound still straining against its lead. 

“Sure,” the man stood and trotted over to the dog holding out his hands. “This is the hound you helped to save. I suspect he knows it, too.” He took a moment to calm the dog down before removing its lead from the hook on the kennel wall. Emma swallowed thickly but forced herself to remain still as he led the animal over to her. 

The dog seemed to sense how nervous she was and walked over quite calmly. He delicately sniffed her boots and pants before putting his cold nose right into the palm of her hand. Shocked, tired, and sore all over she laughed – a little hysterically – and dropped down to her knees. The creature was eye-to-eye with her now and stood quite patiently as she threw her arms around its sturdy neck. 

Some part of her brain reminded her that crying right now would be a terrible idea — it would lead to real sobbing and the actual need to examine why she was having a complete meltdown about a dog. She blinked rapidly. 

It was as she was leaning back onto her heels that she heard a familiar voice chime in, “A true Ferelden. All hail the dog maiden. Hugger of mabari.”

She looked up in time to see a dark haired man dressed in leather grin and wink at her — he was leaning against the kennel fence with a long bow hanging unstrung in his right hand. Her brain scrambled to place him for a moment before settling on the fact that this must be Daveth. The rogue from Denerim. 

He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized that she had pretty much just given him a once-over. She cleared her throat. “That’s me,” she said, voice cracking. She coughed again. “Dog maiden of Ferelden.” 

Footsteps behind them heralded others approaching. Daveth straightened up as four more faces came into view. 

One of them was Alistair, who offered her a tight smile and a nod. He was clearly upset about something. Behind him in dull, plate armor was a balding man who could only be Ser Jory and two additional dark-haired figures. They were obviously siblings. The brother wore scale armor and carried a heavy shield with laurels on the front. The sister wore tooled leather and carried an unstrung bow. Based on the heraldry, both of them were Couslands, which could only mean that Duncan had returned. 

Emma did her best to smile. “Hello, Ser Alistair.” He was clearly trying to be tight and professional with his new recruits, and she didn’t much want to ruin that. “How fares your evening?” 

“Well, enough. Thank you.” He nodded tightly. “We are heading into the Wilds.” He turned his tight expression on Daveth. “It’s very important that we return before night falls.” 

The rogue shrugged and took another step away from the kennel fence. “By all means,” he said, falling in beside the bow-wielding Cousland. “The sooner we have your darkspawn blood the sooner we can all be done with this.”

Alistair grimaced and shot the rogue another irritated look. “Emma, you asked to speak with Duncan? He is the Warden Commander in Ferelden. He is with the other Wardens at our tent on the northeastern edge of the camp.” 

Emma nodded, “Thank you, Alistair. I’ll go there now.” 

She watched the small group leave by way of the large double-gate before she finally stood up. Knees creaking. The kennel masted has long-since returned to his charges. “Well,” she said to the dog who only cocked his head at her. “Let’s go talk to the Warden Commander.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wife for being both incredibly generous with her time and a much better writer than I will ever be.

“Shit.”

The dog cocked its head at her as she paced around the small courtyard, staff butt dragging the ground behind her. This part of the keep was still as dilapidated and empty as the day they had arrived almost two months ago. Piles of broken stone were coated in dirt and full of nasty green-gray weeds. She had already walked into two different spider webs strung between broken bits of stone and mortar. 

Her meeting with Duncan had been much shorter and more decisive than she had been hoping for — the Warden Commander had barely glanced her way to start with and had flat out refused to initiate her before the battle. 

“I appreciate your enthusiasm for the Grey Wardens, child. Truly. However, I cannot induct you until after the battle is complete. We are already pressed for time and resources.” He spoke while looking through several scrolls scattered across a table inside the Grey Wardens’ tent. “I’m sorry, but that is my final word on the matter. Once the battle has been ended, if you still wish to join us please seek me out.” 

No amount of pleading or cajoling had budged him, and she could hardly tell him that they were all going to die in the coming battle. Even as she had contemplated doing just that, she dismissed it. He would never believe her, and if he did take her seriously she might find herself even worse off than she already was. Hysterical soldiers yelling that everyone was going to die weren’t good for morale and morale was of critical importance. They had all seen the darkspawn creeping through the Wilds. They knew what they were about to face. 

Instead, she was taking out her frustration in a secluded part of the keep with only a dog she still hadn’t named and a stolen quarterstaff for company. She brought the staff down on a crumpled column in frustration and was momentarily surprised when it didn’t actually splinter the wood. 

She would just have to find another way to join Alistair and the Wardens. Her only ticket out of this place was to end up with them without being caught and hung for desertion. She could hide and stay out of the battle until she could creep away to Lothering. She was still vague on where exactly Lothering was in relation to Ostagar but she knew that it was north somewhere along the road. 

“I should have just left Denerim and gone straight to Lothering when I got here,” she grumbled out loud. She brought the staff down on another block of stone. “I could have made friends with Leliana and been all set to go.”

She couldn’t change that now, however, and hiding wasn’t actually a great idea. She didn’t actually know where in Ostagar might be safe enough for her to hide and the game always said that Ostagar was “overrun” by darkspawn which would make escaping down the main road pretty much impossible. 

There had to be a way that she could meet up with the Wardens prior to when they were rescued by Flemeth. Maybe she could avoid the main part of the fight and then race up through the Tower of Ishal at the last moment? Wait. Didn’t the tower get overrun as well? The Warden and Alistair were supposed to almost die at the top, weren’t they?

There was also the question of the entire valley being between her and the tower. She could probably run over the bridge but it would be under fire during the battle too. She could just as easily be blown off the edge as anything else. 

She was seized for a moment by the fact that any choice she made at this point would bring her face-to-face with more darkspawn. Adrenaline gripped her for a long moment as her brain sputtered and tried to maintain her grip on her thoughts. Even if she managed to avoid the creatures altogether during this battle, she would have to face them again eventually. If she was with the Wardens they would have to actually enter the Deeproads and practically go hunting for them. Could she even do that?

_ A problem for tomorrow. _ She carefully boxed those thoughts away again and shoved them back through the door in her mind. Taking deep breaths through her nose she sat down in the middle of the courtyard with the quarterstaff across her knees. The dog came up and nudged her with his nose, whining softly. 

“It’s okay,” she told him, starring dimly ahead of her. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” If she could make it to the Tower of Ishal around the same time that the Wardens did maybe she could join them. If the game’s lore was to be trusted, at least Alistair and one other Warden would be there along with one of the king’s soldiers and a mage. If she were with them, she would be as safe as she possibly could be and away from the bulk of the darkspawn. There was the ogre to worry about, but she could just avoid it, right? Could she just wait outside the room until they took it down?

Wait. If she could light the signal while they fought the ogre would that actually give Loghain’s forces enough time to join the battle? Dragon Age: Origins was a game that had been created with a lot of gray morality baked in. She knew that, and she knew that Loghain wasn’t actually supposed to be all evil. Could she make a big enough difference now that the Blight could be stopped here? 

The idea was infectious. She rubbed the dog’s ears as she contemplated this. She needed to make up for as much time as possible. Could she convince other soldiers to defend the tower ahead of the Wardens and clear it out? No. Probably not. She wasn’t an officer and had spent no time at all building connections with anyone. She now bitterly regretted her earlier reservations. She had no allies to call on here. 

What if they could get to the top of the tower faster? They would still need more people for that, and she was not enough of a soldier to make a difference by herself. Her hand stilled on the dog’s neck, and he raised his broad head to look at her. She assumed he would be going with her, and he had already fought darkspawn right? Would his prowess combined with her foresight be enough to get them through the tower with time to spare?

She smiled for the first time in several hours. “You really need a name, don’t you, boy?” He nudged her again, and she continued to scratch behind his ears for a moment. She needed to get moving if this plan of hers was going to work. 

Emma stood and brushed herself off. Hefting the quarter staff loosely, she made her way through the broken flagstone and piles of debris. It was just as the actual camp was coming back into sight that she stopped. 

Close by, someone had hung a few loops of rope to be used for hefting stone and patching materials up the walls. She’d had to clamber up a few of those walls herself to help fill in gaps and patch cracks full of mortar and clay. Her fingers closed over the nearest loops of rope.

Thinking hard she looked back at the hound and felt her face split into a grin. “I think I have an idea.”

___

Aedan Cousland was still staring up at the tower in dismay when a footsoldier darted past swinging a quarterstaff for all his worth into the face of an approaching genlock. The soldier dumped his helmet not even a moment after and turned to the side to vomit, staff now dangling from his fingers. Elissa looked back at him just as Alistair dispatched the final darkspawn on the tower flagstones and took a step towards the soldier. 

The  _ woman _ looked up at Alistair and held her hand out to keep him back. “I’m good.” Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. “Got any water with you?”

The older Warden sheathed his sword and handed her his water skin without a word. She rinsed her mouth out before downing half of it. Her hand moved up to wipe the water off her face but stopped when she saw the grime there. She clearly knew not to let the darkspawn blood anywhere near her mouth.

A massive hound came barreling toward them from around the other side of the tower and stopped short of the woman, panting. He was larger than Aedan’s own pup had been and darker too. Long scars stood out against his fur as he nudged the woman with a broad, wedge-shaped head. She scratched his ears absently for a moment. 

“You’re Grey Wardens, right?” The woman stood up, and turned towards them. Ridiculously, Aedan was struck by how straight and white her teeth were. 

“Yes, we are,” Elissa responded clearly. His sister’s gaze hadn’t left the woman since she’d arrived. “What do you need, soldier?”

The woman pointed up. “We need to get up there. The tower is overrun and to fight our way to the top will take too much time.” She glanced behind her to the tower itself. “Can any of you climb?”

Aedan blanched. “Climb? You want to climb the side of the tower?”

She shrugged. “It’s only four stories, and we could anchor to the buttresses.” She met his eyes with a hard look. “You’re Wardens, right? Don’t Grey Wardens do whatever it takes to defeat the darkspawn? It will take too long to fight through the tower. We have to light the signal now.”

Aedan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A common Ferelden footsoldier was ordering them to climb an ancient tower in the pouring rain to light a signal she should have not known anything about. He opened his mouth to demand she explain when Elissa cut him off. “The mortar is worn away and crumbling between most of the stones and the carvings will give us good purchase in soft boots.” She glanced at the woman’s feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“Are you mad?” Aedan lunged for his sister’s arms but she pulled away from him, not meeting his eyes. 

Alistair was staring at the top of the tower with a pained expression. He turned to the woman now, “Are you sure, Emma?”

He saw the woman flinch and then recover, “Yes. I am. You’re wasting our time.”

He nodded. “I know. Go.” He pulled the loop of rope from his belt and tossed it to her. “Aedan and I will fight through the tower and meet you at the top.”

“ _ What? _ ” Aedan’s voice rose with the bile in his stomach.

Alistair’s response was not the sort of thing Aedan had expected to hear from the other man. “You are a Grey Warden and, in this, I outrank you. Draw your sword and move!”

The woman was watching Alistair with surprise. She studied him a moment longer before addressing the hound at her feet. “Go with Alistair and guard him, Hermes. I’ll meet you at the top. Don’t swallow any more blood.” The hound yipped once, but she was already moving toward his sister. Her fingers came up to undo the buckles that kept her ringmail in place, and the pieces began sliding into the mud methodically. Elissa followed suit but the other woman stopped her when she went to pull off her studded leather jerkin. “You’ll need it at the top. Take your sword and tie it to your back.” She glanced up and noticed that Alistair and Aedan were still standing there watching them. “What are you waiting for? Move your ass!”

Alistair gave a startled laugh and drew his sword. The hound fell in behind Aedan as the three of them turned toward the towering doors. He glanced back once more just before they went around the curve of the tower and out of sight. Elissa met his eyes and nodded just once before tossing her rope up over a curved buttress. Behind her, he heard the woman call just over the wail of the wind and rain, “Watch out for the oil just inside the door. There’s an emissary waiting to light it!”

Aedan grimaced and decided not to spend any additional time trying to puzzle that out. The woman was clearly mad. 

___

Elissa made it to the second buttress before she slipped. The carved stone beneath her toes crumbled away as she reached for her next handhold. For one terrifying moment, she dropped and her heart soared up in her throat. Then the rope around her waist tightened and stopped her with a crack. A crack that was definitely several of her ribs breaking. She cried out in pain and scrambled for a hold on the wall tearing her fingertips in the process. Maker’s tears. Why had she agreed to do this?

She looked up to see the soldier –  _ Emma _ – watching her. It was too loud to hear anything over the roar of the storm and the battle in the valley. The higher they climbed the more clearly they could hear the screams as their forces were cut down. The woman could do nothing to assist or reassure her. If she let go, she would fall much further than Elissa had. Briefly, she wondered how the other woman knew what to do. She and Aedan and Fergus had spent a fair amount of their own time scaling the cliffs of Highever but that had been with grappling hooks and studs to secure themselves to the cliff face. They also hadn’t been struggling to find footholds in crumbling mortar. 

She closed her eyes and took in the deepest breath she could manage before she slowly began to seek out her next hold. A Cousland did not give in to fear or pain. She did not break her word once given. She sacrificed for others and served the people of her country. Elissa would do no less.

___

Emma’s arms were shaking by the time they reached the ledge that surrounded the fourth floor on all sides. The Tower of Ishal had been built as a lookout post. The windows of the tower had shutters that could be drawn in foul weather but no glass or other impairment. The shutters had also not been repaired in decades. She pushed against one board lightly and felt it begin to crack against that small amount of force. Clearly, the wood was rotten and had been for some time. 

She moved to the left and put her back against the stone wall as Elissa Cousland finally reached the ledge and hauled herself over it. The woman lay there for a moment, her face pressed into the wet stone, breathing deeply.

Now that she was here, Emma wished she hadn’t tried this. She didn’t know if this would work, and even if it did it was possible that it wouldn’t change anything. The ogre could just kill them here. None of this would mean anything.

_ No.  _ She couldn’t do that to herself. She was here. She knew what was going to happen. She had a moral responsibility to help fix this. She closed her eyes against the reminder of the good people she had abandoned in the Wilds only the day before. With a shaking breath, she carefully pushed herself to her hands and knees and edged her way over to Elissa. 

The noblewoman was sitting up now and moved her gaze from the treetops to Emma. They were both pointedly not looking at the fading blaze of orange from the valley far below them. They were both frightened. This whole thing was too much, and Emma actually knew what was going to happen. She pushed it aside again, firmly tucking it away.

“There’s an ogre waiting on this floor. We need to light the signal as soon as possible and keep away from it.” She saw Elissa’s eyes go wide. 

“How do you know that?” the other woman was staring at her with near reverence in her eyes. It made Emma’s head hurt. 

“I just do,” Emma told her. “I’ll explain once we live through this. Are you ready?”

Elissa nodded and bit her lip. Emma stood and backed up. She considered the wood in front of her, really hoping that it was as rotten as it looked. Pulling her dagger from her boot and hefting her quarterstaff with the other hand she moved back to the edge of the stone ledge and then threw herself at the splintered wood with a cry.

___

Alistair raised his shield and brought it down decisively on the neck of yet another hurlock. It’s movement ceased abruptly as silence fell over the room. Ignoring the squelching of the half severed neck beneath the shield edge, he leaned forward on the metal to catch his breath. 

_ Look at that. The smell isn't so bad once you’re used to it. _

The idea of becoming accustomed to the stench of darkspawn blood was not among his favorites. 

Across the room, Aedan had slumped against the banister leading to the top floor. They could hear nothing over the roar of the storm and the battle outside. Alistair dearly hoped that Emma and Elissa had made it in time to light the beacon. He didn’t want to imagine what could have happened if the woman hadn’t appeared when she did, or if she hadn’t been able to light the beacon after all. Duncan was down there fighting. His brothers – both real and bound through Warden blood – were down there fighting. He had to ensure that their efforts were worth the fight.

Groaning, he worked his shield out of its current position. The spray of blood from the hurlock’s neck bathed the bottom of his greaves. He ignored it. He would need new armor after this as it was. 

The dog was pacing impatiently at the top of the short flight of stairs. It turned to him as he approached with a vaguely imperious expression as if it was affronted by its own inability to open the door and daring him to laugh. Alistair did not take the invitation but grunted wearily. 

“Come on, Cousland,” he called to the other man. He crossed the floor and nudged Aedan with a bloody foot. “Last stop and then we can sleep for days.”

The nobleman looked up at him with dazed eyes. Alistair sighed.  _ Poncy nobles and their delicate sensibilities _ . He conveniently did not recall the many times he had vomited and even passed out after his first darkspawn kills. You really could get used to the smell after all.

Setting his sword on the steps, he gripped the neckline of Aedan’s ring mail with his other hand before slapping the man soundly across the face.

“Are you fucking mad?” Aedan surged forward, and Alistair raised his shield to deflect the blow. The sound of snapping bone was followed by a howl of pain. Alistair winced in sympathy and lowered his shield. At least the man had tried to punch him with his shield arm, and at least he was up.

“I’m fucking ready to be done with this battle is what I am,” Alistair replied feeling like a right bastard. He clenched his jaw. He needed to command here. Duncan needed him to command. “We’ll get you to a healer soon. Pick up your sword.” He mounted the stairs and snatched his own blade on the way up. He didn’t turn back to see if Aedan was following him.

The door to the fourth floor swung open with a shattering screech that would alert anything above or below them to the movement. The moment he was through the door his shield and sword were on guard as a monstrous sight greeted him. The decapitated head of an ogre grinned from just beyond the doorway. Blood pooled across the floor soaking into the ancient rug. Dismembered limbs both human and darkspawn scattered the room. On the far side, next to a blazing fire, two figures were slumped against the wall unmoving. 

“Oh, Maker,” Aedan had come up behind him, and his voice was filled with panic. “Elissa!” The younger man pushed past the Warden and leapt over the mess in front of them. The dog was hot on his heels. Aedan skidded on the bloody floor but managed to keep his feet until he threw himself down by his sister.

Keeping a wary eye on the floor, Alistair followed him to kneel by Emma where the hound was already worrying away with whines and little yips. Her eyes were open, and she was watching her hound with a sort of half smile. Alistair had a feeling that was more from shock than anything else. She looked up at him as his shadow fell over her. “Elissa will be okay,” she murmured. Blood trickled out of the corners of her mouth following an already well established path. “She has broken ribs, and a broken arm, and a bump on the head. Get her to a healer, and she’ll be fine in no time.” She grinned weakly, right hand gripping the tight fur of her companion. “Me though,” she lifted her other arm away from her belly and it came away sticky with blood. “I don’t recommend getting caught by an ogre. Gut wounds aren’t much fun.”

Alistair gave a choked laugh. The woman was mortally injured, and she was joking about it? He looked at her again and noticed the red flush to her face. It was emphasized by the grey pallor of the rest of her skin. She had to be near delirious with pain.

Her eyes moved away from him and seemed to gaze straight ahead. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Alistair. I hope that you get to see Duncan again. I’ve never seen him live past this battle, but I think we actually lit the beacon in time. I hope that means that the Teyrn will charge and save the people in the valley. It would be good to have made a difference.” She paused and her next breaths were painfully shallow. “I hope that Elissa and Aedan can become the Wardens that you need. I’ve never seen both of them live. Hell, I’ve never seen them as siblings.” She laughed and Alistair reflected again that she must be truly hysterical, or perhaps just mad. Maybe she was a mage after all. A crazy mage.

“You’ll make a wonderful king,” she continued, and Alistair knew that he must not have heard her correctly. “Don’t let your grief and your anger get the best of you, though.” She looked at him now and smiled, lips caked in blood. “Here they come.”

His mind was still trying to puzzle through this last statement when bile rose in his throat, and the distant sense of darkspawn suddenly sharpened into a shriek. The door flew open as Aedan cried out. The two men drew their swords as arrows flew from the darkspawn in the lead. They were so close that the bolts punched through their ringmail like butter. Alistair dropped to one knee. The last thing he saw was a genlock raising its shield high above his head before everything went black.

___

The old woman picked her way through the charred flesh and bits of stone covering the floor of the tower. Her landing had been conveniently assisted by a large chunk of the tower wall giving way at an opportune moment. The fire she’d summoned a moment later had set alight the remaining darkspawn in a most amusing way. A feeling of deep satisfaction filled her as each one died in fiery agony. 

She was also quite pleased that the Wardens had arranged themselves so nicely to the side and out of the line of her fire. She chuckled. There were three of them, and she went to each figure with gentle hands. Healing was difficult and it pulled deeply from her own wellspring of power. Ribs were mended, arrowheads pushed out, bleeding stopped, swelling reduced, and flesh knit together. She was very pleased to see that the young noblewoman had survived. She was certainly the more malleable of the three.

As Flemeth rose something spoke to her from the fourth figure slumped against the wall. She was unknown to the witch, but something about her hummed against the Fade in a way that was both unfamiliar and intriguing. 

Kneeling before her, the witch touched her fingers to the woman’s bloody torso and reached out with her power. Blood rose from the stones to join the dance of magic that flowed between them. Thoughts passed before her eyes. Thoughts and memories that meant nothing to her, and also everything. The Fade had touched this woman deeply and pulled her from a world that was nothing like their own. Yet she knew. She knew what would happen over the next ten years, with an unshakable certainty that chilled the heart. 

Flemeth dropped her hands to the woman’s belly and began the painstaking task of healing the tears and removing the infection that had already set in. It would take a good deal longer than Flemeth really wished to spend here, but some pieces were just too good to sacrifice to the overall game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the interest of transparency regarding timeline, this is the same day that Emma ran away from the Wilds, the same evening of the joining, and the same evening of the Battle at Ostagar. Emma's scouting party was actually supposed to be gone for several more days and would have missed the actual battle much like Fergus's group in the canon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a bit early as I'm a couple chapters ahead of where I planned to be at this point. Enjoy!

Teryn Loghain stood with his back to the tent entrance and gazed – without seeing – at the rough canvas wall. His armored frame cast a ghastly shadow behind him that leapt with each breath of wind through the tent. In the poor light, his face was gaunt and white. An observer might have postulated that he was ill or about to be ill. Cold sweat clung to the lines of his face. The cheekbones that had once looked like they could cut through glass now sagged with lines of worry and anger. 

**_Cailan is dead. What will you tell Anora?_ **

**_The Grey Wardens were decimated. What if you were wrong?_ **

**_Maric would never forgive you for this. Both of his sons dead in one night._ **

These thoughts seemed to exist both within his own mind and outside of it, as if some unknown wind was whispering in his ear. They clung to him like a lover.

**_Why don’t you just give up? When will you die, old man?_ **

He shook it off. He would address Anora on his return to Denerim. Their victory here had crushed the darkspawn invaders and no archdemon had been sighted.

_And Maric is the dead one._ His bitter thoughts carried him out of his tent and into the mist. _Hang what he would think._

The mood in the camp was somber — his forces had joined the fight just in time to route the battle, but not in time to save the king or his beloved Grey Wardens. Bloody Orlesian bastards. If their commander hadn’t filled Caillan’s head with so much nonsense the king might still be alive. Instead, the Wardens had been slaughtered to a man and the king with them.

Oddly, they had yet to find the bodies of the bastard or the Cousland children. No doubt they were yet more pawns for the Orlesian commander’s games. _That will not do._

Loghain squared his shoulders and continued forward. He had work to do.

___

Elissa sat on the bank of the pond and cried. Her body was terribly bruised and sore. The pain was even worse than when her horse had thrown her, and she’d crashed through the chicken coop. Nan had kept her in bed for months with treats and stories, but the pain had been the most memorable part of the whole experience. Her mother had finally given up and sent for a healer. Elissa’s complaints had been that unbearable. It was also the first of many times when she and her father had stayed up late talking about duty and honor. Her very first lesson was that a Cousland never let another see her suffering. She’d resolved to bite her tongue off before she cried again from that point on. She kept that promise even as the healer re-broke her arm to set it properly. 

Now there was no one to hear her and no one to speak to. Both her mother and father were dead. Her healer was a fairytale meant to frighten small children into behaving. The pain, the trauma, the _grief_ was overwhelming, and she did not have the ability to cope with any of it.

“Stop it.”

She looked up to find Aedan standing over her. His face was streaked with tears of his own and his beard was full of grime. He crouched down near the water and scrubbed his face clean. “Stop it,” he continued. “We can’t afford to mourn them now. Lock it away. Remember? Like father taught us? Couslands never show their suffering. We have to be above it.”

She nodded and forced herself to take in a deep breath. She winced at the pain in her chest, but for just a moment felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. _You have to attack as if you’ve already won the battle, pup. Never let them see you hesitate. Couslands do not wage wars, but we win them._ “I know,” she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Aedan or the ghost of her father at that moment.

Aedan nodded but reached out to pull her into a hug. “We’ll find Howe, and we’ll slaughter the bastard. Then, we’ll mourn.”

She nodded her head against his tunic and held on to the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. 

___

The first thing that Emma noticed was the pain. She really wished that she hadn’t. The pain was really not welcome, but her brain wasn’t interested in her complaints. Her eyes opened and met the support beam over her head. She remembered from her younger years of reading trashy novels how common it was for storybook heroines to wake up and not remember where they were. She kind of wished that were true for her in the moment.

“Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

Morrigan’s voice confirmed it. Emma shut her eyes for a moment longer before struggling up from the bed. “Hello, Morrigan,” she said looking around the room for something that might enable her to wash the grime off her skin. It was almost as distracting as the pain. Maybe a little more so. A basin of water with a cloth over the rim was waiting for her. She made her painful way fully upright and used the bed frame to support her way across the room.

“How curious that you know my name, but I am certain that I have never once met you,” Morrigan replied as Emma began to drag the cloth over her face and neck.

Right. Emma had never met her before. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I’m Emma.”

“Are you another warden, then?”

She shook her head, “No. I’m not.”

“I wonder then why mother would bother with you?” Morrigan clearly had no issue with the fact that her questions were obviously aggressive. Emma shrugged and then winced. She felt a bit dizzy now, and her heart rate seemed to explode upward as she leaned forward. 

“That would be a better question for your mother, then.”

Morrigan huffed and crossed her arms as Emma stared straight ahead into the little pool of water. She didn’t say anything further but held her breath until the witch turned and left the cottage entirely. 

Emma gripped the edges of the basin until the old china bit into her hands trying to take deep breaths. Another panic attack right now would not only suck, it would make her seem unfit to travel with the remaining Wardens. She needed to stay with them. Climbing the tower didn’t seem to have made any kind of discernible difference. Besides, the Wardens were the only people in Thedas that she was remotely familiar with. She shut her eyes against the faces of the men and women she had lived beside for the past months and forced the images away. She had a moral responsibility to help. A tiny part of her was still trumpeting about the personal glory of helping to end the Blight in _real life_ but that part was getting smaller and quieter all the time. Being gutted by an ogre would do that to you.

She continued to scrape the muck off her skin to the best of her ability and then carefully pulled on clean clothes and what was left of her armor. She had bled through her linens and breeches entirely, but someone had been kind enough to leave clean ones for her. Something as mundane as her period seemed out of place in her current state of mind. There wasn’t much left of her armor, but she pulled it on anyway. What little protection it could provide was better than nothing. She pointedly didn’t look at the missing section where the stomach panel should have been. Someone had even cleaned her staff and sword and left them leaning against the door. She tied the sword to her belt and hefted the staff. Finally, she pulled her hair back and went out the door. 

___

Alistair’s head snapped back around, “She what?”

“You heard me, young man,” the witch returned with an impatient tone. “She knows what will happen to you. You must take her with you if you are to succeed.”

Emma was pinching the bridge of her nose tightly as if to ward off a headache. “Did you really have to just tell them?” She sounded exhausted. “Was it really necessary?”

Flemeth leveled her with a look. “You should know that it is.”

Aedan was shaking his head. “This is nonsense. No one can know the future.”

“Aedan,” Elissa’s voice drew her brother’s attention. “She knew about the ogre. How could she have known about it?”

“Perhaps she was the one who let it in,” the nobleman challenged.

“That’s ridiculous,” Alistair jumped in. “You can’t reason with an ogre. You can’t just tell them, ‘Oh, wait here Mr. Ogre, ser. I’ll just skip down the tower and bring you some nice Warden snacks!’ without becoming a snack yourself!”

“What about the oil trap inside the door,” Elissa continued. “And the emissary? She warned you about those.”

Aedan snorted and shook his head. “She sent us into a trap.”

“Then why in the Maker’s name would she tell you about it?” Elissa’s voice rose sharply.

“I don’t know,” Aedan was shouting now. “Maybe she’s touched in the head!”

“No.” The noblewoman brought her hand down decisively. “She’s touched by the Maker.”

All heads turned to look at Emma who looked like she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes and also trying hard to stay on her feet. If she was a herald of the Maker, Alistair reflected, she didn’t seem aware of how one should act.

Flemeth cackled. “Believe whatever you want. You are Wardens. Your responsibility is to defeat the Blight, and that means accepting help wherever it may be. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”

“No,” Alistair said quickly. “No, of course not.”

“We have three Wardens,” Emma said softly. “We have the treaties, and we might even have Teyrn Loghain as an ally.” She looked at Flemeth. “You said that the army succeeded in defeating the darkspawn here?”

The witch nodded. “Only stragglers remain above ground. It will take them some time to organize another true assault, but that will not stop them from pushing north.” Her yellow eyes blazed. “Their king and their fellow Wardens were destroyed. This Teyrn Loghain has taken up the role of regent, I believe.”

Alistair pushed back the wave of grief that threatened to swamp him. This was not the time or the place for this. Duncan would want him to lead their remaining forces. He would have told him to use any resources they had available. 

“Very well,” he said, drawing all eyes to him. “She will come with us.”

Aedan and Elissa refrained from commenting, but the noblewoman’s posture straightened and she nodded in agreement. In contrast, Aedan’s shoulders hunched forward making it clear that he wasn’t happy about this decision.

Emma just looked sad. She met Alistair’s gaze and nodded. He noticed that she had a new scar just across her left cheekbone.

“There is one last thing I can give you,” Flemeth continued. “Morrigan! Get over here girl!”

___

They stumbled into Lothering just ahead of the sunset. The hike through the Wilds had been far less eventful than anticipated thanks to Morrigan’s assistance, and they made good time once they reached the road. The waiting bandits had been dealt with. Emma had retreated to the side, passively allowing the rest of the party to put their skills to use. She still vomited twice. Hermes had trotted over with a bloody muzzle which hadn’t helped matters at all.

“Lothering,” Alistair announced as they left the king’s road for the village just visible beyond the rise. “Pretty as a painting.”

“I see that you’ve decided to rejoin us,” Morrigan’s caustic voice rang out, and Emma felt Hermes’ head whip around under her hand. “Falling on your sword in grief seemed too much trouble, I take it?”

Elissa beat Alistair to a reply. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Morrigan whirled clearly ready to deliver a lesson in the cruelties of the real world — Emma turned away. Whatever vitriol the witch wanted to spout, let her. She just wanted to reach the inn and find out whether her ploy to light the beacon sooner had changed Loghain’s mind at all. She also desperately wanted a meal and a bed, in that order.

She looked over at Alistair who was watching the argument behind them with a stony expression. Apparently, even another person harping on Morrigan wasn’t enough to lift his spirits. Emma reached back and touched his shoulder just beneath the pauldron. The man jumped but stilled when she smiled at him. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s find something to eat and then we can discuss our next steps.”

___

  
  


They approached the inn after taking a brief look at the Chantry board. There were quite a few tasks that could be done for a small amount of coin. Elissa was unaccustomed to being without sufficient sums of gold, but both Alistair and Emma seemed to know how best to address that. None of the tasks seemed arduous, as they were.

Outside the inn, Emma stopped to speak with a tall man perched beside the door. He was fair skinned and dark haired with quite a lot of beard. He was also very helpful and introduced himself as Garrett Hawke. Emma asked him several questions about the village, its people, and its defenses. The man answered each question in turn until Emma finally fell silent. For a moment, the other woman just stared at him, and Elissa began to wonder if he was one of the things that Emma just knew about. Her interest was far from academic. Elissa was the only deeply religious member of the Cousland family. Oh, all of them attended Chantry services and said their prayers the same as any other Andrastian, but Elissa had wanted to enter the Chantry as a sister. She had spent long hours at Mother Mallol’s feet as a child. At first it was encouraged. However, shortly after her thirteenth name day it had been made very clear to her that she would be expected to marry and marry well. Her father had spent just as much time drilling the Cousland values of honor and obligation into her as he had her brothers, but Elissa had always struggled with them much more than Fergus or Aedan. She wanted to make her father proud, so she learned how to fight and wield a bow, ride a horse, and hunt, but she never _wanted_ to be doing any of those things. Even her mother's lessons on dancing and music felt like chores. She just wanted to sit in the calm quiet of the Chantry and feel the weight of her family’s expectations drain away. 

As a result, she was very interested in the woman in front of her. In Elissa’s mind, the only explanation for the things that she seemed to know was divine guidance. 

Finally, Emma bowed her head and thanked the man by name. As she turned to enter the inn Elissa heard her murmur something to him that left a deep frown on his face. He left shortly afterward.

She stepped around her brother to enter the inn just behind the other woman, “What did you say to him?”

Emma stopped short and looked back at her with a far away expression, “I told him to gather his family and leave as soon as possible, and to be careful of any ogres that they encounter.”

Elissa frowned. That couldn’t be all of it, surely? That seemed nothing more than pure common sense. She let the subject drop as they spilled into the brightly lit building. She didn’t notice Emma’s eyes as they swept the room in anticipation or the sudden stiffening of her posture as her gaze landed on three heavily armed men just across from them. She might have been more inclined to keep asking questions.

As it was, she was _very_ distracted by the woman approaching them from her place near the hearth. She was wearing the robes of a chantry sister but had a dagger attached to her belt. The sister smiled inquisitively at Elissa and the noblewoman felt her face flush. She cleared her throat and looked away. Clearly, she had simply been distracted by the woman’s uncommonly red hair.

“Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.” A rough voice brought her attention forward to three men making their way toward them. The man was dark with a swarthy face and a patched beard. A heavily armored footsoldier came up behind him. “Didn’t we spend all morning asking about a fellow by this very description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen him?” 

The first man grunted and put his hand on his sword hilt. “It seems we were lied to,” he returned. 

“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble.” The sister’s voice was heavily accented with Orlesian vowels. She stepped up beside Emma, putting herself squarely in front of Elissa. “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.” She spread her hands entreatingly, but Elissa noticed that her hips were angled with the dagger behind her.

It wasn’t hard to read the room as the three men stiffened. Elissa edged her lead foot forward and loosened her sword in its sheath as quietly as she could.

“They are more than that,” the man snapped back, leaning forward to leer in the sister’s face. “Now stay out of our way, sister. You protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as them.”

The sister again held her hands up, entreating patience. “How can you be so sure that they are Wardens?” She glanced behind her briefly. “None of them bear the Warden’s insignia.” She smiled sweetly. “I know, ser, that you are only doing your best to serve the regent with honor. We all know that the Grey Wardens are traitors to the crown and deserve whatever fate they are met with, but it would not do to attack the Maker’s children blindly.”

The first man’s expression was growing impatient. He turned his head and spat at the sister’s feet. “Enough talk. We have descriptions of the Wardens. Take them into custody. Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way.”

Everything moved quite quickly after that. The sister dropped and brought her foot around to catch the leader behind his ankle creating a perfect opening for Emma’s quarterstaff to come crashing down on the man’s face as he flailed backwards. Hermes got between the man’s feet to ensure he really fell on his way down. The back of his head collided with the corner of a table. Elissa chose that moment to lunge forward with her sword putting it neatly through the neck of the second man who was readying himself to attack the still crouching sister. Blood spurted over them both as she wrenched the blade back.

The final man had his shield locked with Alistair and was steadily forcing the Warden down to the ground. Even as Elissa recovered from the momentum of her thrust she saw Aedan bring his shield around to bash the last man in the head. He went down. Hard. The flash of ice that imaled the man through the throat a moment later could only be described as overkill.

The fight was over in moments. The bystanders in the inn had barely had time to stand before all three men were dead on the ground. Elissa stepped back as the pool of blood reached her boots and felt the hands of the sister clasp her arm. She looked down and met the woman’s bright blue eyes, oddly filled with tears. 

She heard Emma retching as Alistair went to check on her. The woman had thrown up so many times in the last day that there was nothing left in her stomach but bile. After a moment she recovered and accepted a handkerchief from Alistair to wipe her face. 

The innkeeper had recovered his wits enough to build up to a rather impressive temper. He came around the edge of the bar with a rolling pin clasped in his hands and a scowl on his round face. He didn’t make it far before he was suddenly facing the mabari hound growling low and menacingly in its throat. Elissa saw Aedan turn when he heard the dog, and her brother’s best expression of contempt fell over his face like a mask. The innkeeper dropped the rolling pin and retreated with his hands held up as if to shield himself.

The sister released Elissa’s arm and took a short step back drawing their attention to her. “I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”

Emma smiled at her and stepped forward to clasp the sister’s hand as if they were old friends. “Not at all, thank you for assisting us.”

Elissa heard Morrigan sigh behind her and glanced back at the witch. She was leaning on her staff with a bored expression and sneered as she met Elissa’s eyes. 

“You are Grey Wardens, are you not?” The sister’s voice brought her attention forward again. 

“How do you know that, exactly,” Alistair asked as Emma nodded.

The woman smiled pleasantly at him and addressed Emma, “I knew you were. I would like to help you. This Blight threatens all of Thedas, no? My skills could assist you in defeating it.”

“What skills would a Chantry sister have that could assist us,” Aedan drawled, still wiping his shield clean. “Your prayers will not stop the Blight.”

“I was not always a sister,” her eyes moved to Aedan briefly. “For many years, I traveled as a minstrel. I learned many useful skills in that time.”

Emma seemed to consider her. The woman’s freckled skin was even paler than it had been upon waking up that morning. “You knew my face, didn’t you?”

The sister blushed. “I did, but you would not believe me if I told you why.”

“Oh, do tell us,” Morrigan insisted from behind them. “We are all dying to know.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

The sister opened her mouth to reply when Emma held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary, Leliana.” She smiled again and rested her other hand on her mabari’s head. “We would welcome your skills.”

“Oh,” the sister’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “I did not tell you my name.”

“No,” Emma returned, “and you knew who I was before I entered the inn.”

There was a moment of silence. “I suppose we are quite even then, no?” Leliana visibly relaxed.

“Yes,” Emma said. “I suppose we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more appreciation and love to my wife for editing this chapter and suggesting some changes. I reworked this like six times.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 in which all the people are talking and our heroine gets her ego checked.

It was well past sunset by the time they left the road again — the moon had risen overhead, and they were all beyond exhausted. Morrigan led them away from the king’s road into a small meadow that showed signs of a forest fire some years before. The grasses were tall and interspersed with singed trees and fallen branches. There was a stream snaking its way around one side. The fresh water was a welcome relief. 

Aedan’s shoulders felt bruised beyond belief. He’d carried a pack in the past, but never for longer than a few hours. Cousland hunting trips were held on horseback and only resolved into actual stalking on foot once they were close to putting their quarry down. Even that was often just left to the dogs. Yet, they had each been handed a pack and supplies to carry in Lothering. The six of them had pooled their meager funds together to purchase what was needed. He and Elissa were unaccustomed to needing to purchase things and hadn’t had anything to actually offer except for the jewelry that had come with them from Highever. Elissa had given up her bracelet and earrings. Aedan had hidden his rings in his jerkin. 

He wasn’t happy with this entire arrangement — the woman – Emma, or whatever she called herself – was playing their little band like the strings of a fiddle. Elissa, in particular, seemed to be ready to fall to her knees at the woman’s feet and kiss her soiled boots. His irritation with _Emma_ was nothing compared to his irritation with Elissa at the moment. When she wasn’t hanging onto the other woman’s every word, she was staring after the Chantry sister like a lost mabari. It was infuriating and embarrassing. Their father would be appalled by the level of naivety his sister was showing.

Aedan took the time to pitch his own small tent and compose himself — his sister could act like a fool all she wanted for the moment. If she wouldn’t control herself enough to properly represent their family, he would simply have to do it for them both.

He spread out his bedroll and sauntered over to the now blazing fire. The Chantry sister was bent over the flames with a stout pot and the remains of a rabbit chatting happily as she worked. 

“I was a minstrel for many years in Orlais,” she said, seemingly entirely absorbed in her conversation with Elissa. “I met many wonderful people in my time at court and traveled all through the countryside.” Elissa seemed to be hanging off her every word with a sloppy smile on her face. For a moment, he was struck by the knowledge that Elissa was still only 17. She wouldn’t be of age until the harvest began in several months. He felt his irritation with her soften for a moment. They had been through a lot in the last few weeks. He shouldn’t be so cross with her. 

She looked up at him at that moment and smiled for the first time since they had left Highever, and, Maker-help-him, he couldn’t help but smile back.

A shout from behind them brought his attention around to where Morrigan was standing nose-to-nose with Alistair. The senior Warden had been almost silent for most of the day. After his no-nonsense attitude earlier, it was a welcome relief but also a surprise. Aedan had assumed that the older man would try to take charge now that there were no other Wardens left, but so far that hadn’t really been the case. 

The Warden and the witch were arguing about something — no doubt, Morrigan had lured the other man into a fight with another quip about his character. She had been at it since they met in the Wilds and was showing no signs of letting up. 

On the other side of the clearing, the _qunari_ was also watching the bickering pair. He had the mabari, Hermes, beside him as they waited near the stream. Emma appeared behind them a moment later and visibly deflated when she saw Morrigan and Alistair. She said something to Sten to which the qunari grunted in reply, and walked toward the pair. Whatever she said next was directed at Morrigan, as the witch turned her attention away from Alistair. The Warden took his opportunity to escape. 

Aedan leaned back on his hands and tried to catch what Morrigan and Emma were talking about — clearly, this was going to be a long trip. Snippets of their conversation drifted to him, and he filed them away for additional examination at a later time. Morrigan was complaining vehemently about Alistair, and Emma seemed to be making general overtures of sympathy. He wasn’t sure how Morrigan couldn’t hear the disingenuous interest in Emma’s voice or see how her eyes kept glancing at Alistair's retreating back. He put it down to growing up the Wild’s with only Flemeth for company.

Bored now with his people-watching, the nobleman folded up his cloak and stuck it beneath his head for a pillow. Elissa could wake him whenever there was food to be eaten.

___

Morrigan had retreated to the far side of the camp and absorbed herself in a book — Emma sighed and finally took a moment to check on the locations of her other companions, taking note of Elissa and Leliana by the fire, with Aedan lounging near them. The man appeared to be dozing with his cloak under his head. Sten, who did not seem to like the presence of their party much, had retreated to the stream for his ablutions with Hermes. She didn’t remember anything significant about the Qun other than the fact that it was a very unyielding religion. Apparently, it came with ablutions and prayers every evening, and while mabari were welcome, other people were not.

Finally, her eyes fell on the opening in the trees where Alistair had retreated to. She doubted he had gone very far. He wasn’t an idiot. The lure to follow him wasn’t quite as strong as the siren’s call of cooking happening close by. None of them had eaten since leaving the Wilds earlier that morning. She knew that he was still mourning Duncan and probably would be for some time. Emma was always a bit disappointed by how easily Alistair’s grief was dealt with in the game. It always seemed so callous and brief. It was better to let him grieve and not intrude unless he invited her to.

Elissa and Leliana were singing softly, back and forth. She assumed that they were hymnals of some sort. She dropped to the ground a little ways from them and began the long process of trying to release her shoulders. It was heavily ingrained in her after four months of learning swordplay, but it still took long enough that she never quite wanted to go through it. 

She was part way through her third long breath when Aedan spoke up beside her — “What on earth are you doing?”

Emma considered ignoring him. She really did consider it, but released the breath in a sigh. “I was trying to relax my shoulders so that I can sleep tonight.”

“And how did you expect to do that breathing like a bellow,” he smirked at her and, far from being charming, it was irritating. “Why don’t you talk to us instead? You’re _all-knowing,_ isn’t that right? It seems like it would be some great relief to share your _burden of knowledge_.” 

Emma rubbed the space between her eyebrows and realized that Elissa and Leliana had fallen completely silent. She glanced up to find Elissa watching her with that same near-reverent expression she’d worn at Flemeth’s hut. Leliana simply looked curious, but Emma knew that the bard had visions of her own to rely on. 

“I can’t,” she replied, dropping her hands back into her lap.

Aedan’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean you can’t?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t the first time she had considered how her own presence in the world might create changes. Her focus had been on surviving the Battle of Ostagar for several months now, but there was still some lingering desire to leave the world better than she found it. Her plan to climb the Tower of Ishal didn’t seem to have made any difference, but clearly Flemeth knew what she knew, or at least, that she knew it. Had that already created some far-reaching consequence that she couldn’t anticipate or compensate for?

“Imagine that you were standing outside the door to a house, and you knew that the moment you walked into the room you would be attacked by a man coming at you from the right,” she spoke off the top of her head, searching for a way to connect her anxieties to this man’s haughty expectations. “What would you do when you stepped into the room?”

Aedan snorted. “Kill him.”

Emma shook her head. “Think smaller than that. What would you change about how you entered the room if you knew you were going to be attacked?”

The nobleman actually appeared to consider his answer for a moment. “I would be more alert when I entered the room, I suppose?”

“Right. Now, suppose that because you entered the room already alert and knowing what would happen you were able to successfully defeat your attacker, but because you did that, you also didn’t notice the trip wire across the door frame.” She spread her hands, “You were so focused on the threat you knew was there that you missed the real one.”

Aedan frowned at her. He clearly understood what she was saying but not _why_ she was saying it. “What exactly does that have to do with this conversation?”

“Because,” Leliana’s voice made them both jump. “If she tells us to expect a danger that she knows about, we might miss one that she doesn’t. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yet she’s supposed to be all knowing,” Aedan argued. “She should know about the other danger.”

“I’m not all knowing,” Emma interjected. “I know what’s going to happen or a version of what’s going to happen over the next ten years or so, and only in Ferelden and the Free Marches, really.” 

“But the Maker should be able to give you any knowledge you need, shouldn’t he,” Elissa asked. She was leaning across the fire now, intent on the conversation. 

“My knowledge doesn’t come from the Maker that I’m aware of.” Emma squirmed. She wasn’t quite sure how to continue this conversation. There were quite a few half-cocked ways she could spin this, but it was impossible to really see the repercussions. Honesty, it seemed, might be the best policy. Not that they were likely to believe her. “My knowledge of the next ten years was told to me like a story. Like an interactive story. Do you have choose-your-own-adventure books here?” 

Leliana nodded. “Not as books, but we have stories that have different endings based on the choices of the listener. They were quite popular with the late emperor.”

“Well, what I know about Thedas was told to me like one of those stories. I’ve only heard one version of it. If there are other endings, I don’t know them.” 

Elissa caught her eye. “Did the story you were told have us in it? Do you know what’s going to happen to us?”

Emma shook her head. “No. The story I was told was from the perspective of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. They were different Grey Wardens, and no one was there to guide them in the version that I know.” 

The scope of the conversation seemed to hit all four of them at once. Emma let out the breath she’d been holding. Elisa sat back as Leliana paused to stir the cook pot. 

Aedan sat forward, “So, you’re worried that if you tell us the version of the story that you know, you will create a version of the story that you don’t know?”

That certainly summed it up nicely. Emma nodded. 

The nobleman stood up and dusted himself off. “I don’t know what kind of madness possesses you, but I hope the Maker will put you out of your misery before you get us all killed.” 

“Aedan!” Elissa shot to her feet.

Emma watched as he simply gazed at his sister with a sad expression, “You know as well as I that the Maker doesn’t care what we do. He didn’t save us, he didn’t save our family, and he didn’t send this woman to help us. Even if she truly believes that she knows what will happen, that only affirms the fact that she’s mad, and even if she is _somehow_ correct about the things that are going to happen, we have no way of knowing if what she knows will actually come to pass or even if it should. She doesn’t know what will happen to us, and she won’t tell us how to secure any outcome. She isn’t a Warden, and she isn’t a fighter. As far as I am concerned, she’s only here to save her own skin from the Blight.”

She should have been able to recognize the pain that laced Aedan’s words — she should have been able to rationalize the act of lashing out. If she were better, his doubts wouldn’t matter. As it was, they cut, and they cut deeply. 

Leliana was already standing to retort but the elder Cousland had said all that he intended to say. He left and disappeared into his tent. Emma watched him leave, and she saw the yellow gleam of Morrigan’s eyes. It was impossible to read the witch’s face and after a moment the woman simply returned to her book. 

She didn’t have the stomach to face the pity in Leliana’s face or the uncertainty in Elissa’s. Emma muttered an excuse and fled to her own tent.

Inside she sat down, blinking rapidly. Aedan‘s words had struck at her lingering doubts like a snake, but her uncovered pride hurt the most in that moment. For the last few months, she had convinced herself that the world of Thedas needed her to guide it. She had to survive, join the Wardens, and save the world. It was a necessity that overpowered everything else. With a lurch of her stomach, she realized that she hadn’t once thought of her mother or her sisters since signing her name on that roster in Denerim. She had dreams about them, of course. Her subconscious wasn’t actually interested in her habitual, single-minded focus, but they were dreams easily pushed aside and forgotten. By the time she’d pulled on her armor each morning, the only thing she remembered about them was a feeling of general anxiety that was easily blamed on an upcoming scouting mission or trip up the walls of Ostagar to patch yet another gaping hole. 

Now she let her pride bleed out of her — tears streamed down her face as she clung to the only real thought in her mind which was to make sure no one heard her. Irritatingly, her mother’s yoga practice came to mind. She and all of her sisters had been doing yoga since they could stand. It had been drilled into them as the best tool to manage and control their emotions. In her first year of community college, she’d taken several courses on psychology and gotten momentarily lost in just _how much_ was wrong with her. It was overwhelming and rather than deal with it, she simply shut down and decided none of it was necessary. She had no temper to speak of. Her mother hadn’t abused her as a child, and they’d always had enough food. Anything else was just unreasonable. 

She bitterly regretted that now. She had lived her whole life thinking she was humble and in control by pushing things to the side and focusing on what was in front of her. Now that method was failing her. Badly. 

She was utterly unsure how to handle this — she wanted so badly to rebuild the boundary that had existed until just a moment ago, but it had already collapsed. She didn’t _have_ the tools to manage this.

So, she cried and kept crying until she, finally, fell asleep. 

—-

Leliana watched the girl leave and listened to the little sounds that escaped from the rough canvas of her tent. She wasn’t sure what she believed just yet. It was true that Emma had known her name in Lothering, but that didn’t mean she was divine. Truly red hair in Ferelden was uncommon. Many people in the village would have known Leliana’s name and been able to pick her out of a crowd. 

It certainly did not explain why Leliana had known _her_ face, however. She could find a way to explain it, she was certain. That was how faith was. There was always another excuse. 

That meant that it was left for her to decide what to do with it all — as always. 

She sighed and then smiled as Elissa turned toward her. “What drama,” she teased. “It’s almost like being in the empress’s court.” 

Elissa smiled. She had such a lovely, open nature. It made Leliana nostalgic for her early days with Lady Cecilie dancing on the veranda and reading stories late into the night. 

A footfall nearby announced Alistair’s return just as Leliana moved to lift the cooking pot clear of the fire. The elder Warden was pale and his face was wet from washing. Leliana could see faint red circles around his eyes still. Clearly, the man had been having a difficult evening of his own.

“Alistair,” she called as she began to ladle the soup into bowls. “You trained as a templar, no?”

The man looked up with a startled expression. “Yes,” he said in a cracking voice. He cleared his throat. “Yes. I did.” 

“Did you join them at a young age, then? The templars in Lothering all spoke of growing up in the monastery.”

“Oh, yeah. I did.”

“How did you like it? I so enjoyed the peace and tranquility of the sisters’ chambers in Lothering.” She handed him a bowl. 

The man seemed to stare at her unseeing for a moment before he laughed. “I wasn't as enamored with it.” He recovered his humor and tucked into his meal quite quickly. “I was a young boy when I entered the monastery. I didn't do it by choice, and I resented it. The quiet made me crazy. I used to scream and scream until someone came to find me.” He chuckled again, mouth full. “Whenever they asked about it, I would tell them I was ‘just checking.’”

Leliana briefly wondered if she should be affronted by that behavior when Elissa started to laugh. “My mother would have _killed_ me if I’d ever done anything like that in the Chantry.” 

“I was a child,” Alistair returned, face now flushed.

“I broke a Chantry window once,” Elissa told them guiltily. “My brother, Fergus, is twelve years older than I am. He was married eight years ago. A Cousland arriving at the cathedral in Highever must come on horseback and the lord always arrives last to his own wedding. We were all lined up in front of the doors waiting for him to arrive when Aedan thought it would be funny to spook Fergus's horse. He gathered a bunch of rocks from the road and piled them into my skirt to hide them from our mother. When Fergus rode in we threw the rocks into the courtyard to spook it. Poor thing. It danced around so badly that it almost threw Fergus into a rose bush and kicked up one of the rocks enough that it smashed through one of the colored glass windows.”

Both Leliana and Alistair were grinning at this — dinner was consumed with additional stories and even a song. Aedan returned to the fire after a time and ate his dinner silently. Morrigan also kept her silence even when Leliana attempted to draw her into the conversation by asking about her mother. 

“Leave me be, wench,” the witch snapped. “I have no tales to entertain you.” 

Leliana shrugged and turned back to the fire. 

Aedan chose that moment to chime in, “So, now that we’re all the best of friends, where are we going?” He looked around the circle and met each of their eyes. “The last I checked, we needed to create an army from scraps of ancient parchment. So, where do we start?”

“The treaties are with the Dalish elves, Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi,” Elissa said softly. She pulled her knees up to her chest. 

“Are there any additional options,” Leliana asked.

“The Arl of Redcliff would assist us,” Alistair offered.

Aedan snorted. “You clearly don't know Arl Eamon. He wouldn't help a Cousland unless it was to help them over a cliff.” 

Alistair was immediately defensive, “That’s ridiculous. Arl Eamon is a good man. Respected in the landsmeet. He wouldn't just let Loghain seize power without a fight.”

“I thought this was about defeating the Blight,” Aedan’s voice was low, almost pleasant. “Not about revenge.” 

Leliana watched the older Warden’s face color — he looked away. 

Aedan spread his hand entreatingly, “I propose going to the Circle of Magi first. It is the closest location to where we are physically and the potential gain is exponentially greater than any of the other options.” He looked up at Morrigan now. “We all know just how much power a mage can weild.” 

Leliana covered a smile at this blatant attempt at flattery — Morrigan did not seem to notice just how obvious the statement was, but smirked in return. 

Aedan straightened his shoulders and gazed around their little group once more. Leliana had to admit, the nobleman certainly knew how to command attention, and he seemed to already know just where his words would have the most effect.

“Very well,” Alistair interjected with visible effort. “We’ll go to the Circle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Emma; she's gonna have a really hard time with all this. I have to warn you, if you're here for a "modern girl saves Thedas" tale, you're not going to like this story. I wanted to write this specifically because I wanted to drop a normal person with a crappy family into Thedas and see what the best plausible outcome was. It's really easy to stay focused and glorify your presence in a world where you're the savior and everything is still a video game in your head. Not so much when you actually have to start facing your reality. She's going to be doing a lot of processing from here on out. 
> 
> Also, yes, yoga. It's a thing that Emma does because her mom was crunchy and taught her it was the end-all-be-all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Circle of Magi.

Their arrival at the Spoiled Princess inn was in the midst of a rain storm — the clouds crowded thick and low overhead reducing visibility significantly despite the early hour. Everyone was huddled miserably in cloaks and spare blankets. Alistair looked back out over the lake and shuddered. 

The wind had churned the water up so that little peaks of white were forming over the surface. The battered the old dock that met the water just a few yards from where he now stood. There were no boats, and he knew that only one craft ever tied up at that particular dock. It was most likely held fast across the path made vaguely visible by the soaring Tevinter ruins and general gloom of the evening. 

At the end of that path was the Circle of Magi — Alistair hadn’t gone with the other wardens to collect their mage charges more than a month ago. Instead, he’d been charged with keeping an eye on their horses and supplies ensconced firmly on this side of the water. He had accepted what was probably a convenient oversight on their part quite gladly. He had no desire to ever set foot in that tower. He’d had nothing but night terrors about it for years as it was. 

He looked away from the lake and trudged up the path to the inn where the rest of his companions had already disappeared. His dreams had been much more mundane lately. Perhaps it was the retreating presence of the darkspawn as their party moved further north, but he hadn’t even been seeing much of the horde during his night time excursions. No, instead his dreams were filled with childhood memories and ideas. His father featured largely in them. Along with a woman with fair hair and no discernible face who was probably meant to be his mother. 

Eventually, all of his dreams dissolved into fighting the Battle at Ostagar over and over again — sometimes he would simply relive the events at the Tower of Ishal. Sometimes they would fail to reach the top entirely. Other times he was fighting in the valley instead with Duncan and Caillan at his side. Inevitably, he woke up when they died, but not before he saw the actual moments of their deaths each and every time. 

He knew his grief was getting the better of him — as the senior Warden of the group, Duncan would expect him to lead and to set an example for the Couslands. He should be spending his time showing them how proper Wardens behaved. With honor and sacrifice. 

Instead, he stood passively by as Aedan and Emma argued. Well, Aedan argued. Emma was strangely silent on the subject of next steps and future plans. He wasn't sure if that had anything to do with the knowledge she claimed to have or was simply a result of Aedan’s continued ire. He still didn’t much understand or appreciate this ability of hers, but he imagined that knowing the future must be very lonely and sad. 

“Alistair!”

His head came up, and he realized he’d been standing in the doorway for some time. Leliana was waving him over to a table where she was already settled between Elissa and the wall. Emma was perched in front of her and looked back to smile at him. 

Feeling a little foolish, he smiled back. He didn’t realize that it was the first time he’d managed a smile in two whole weeks. 

—-

The decision to start with the Circle of Magi was the very first thing Emma heard the morning after her enlightening conversation with Aedan. She had dreamed of her sisters that night. There were no concrete memories to draw from, but the general feeling of being loved and appreciated went a long way toward restoring her sanity. She’d been able to greet Aedan, Leliana, and Morrigan with a civil expression and finally relaxed when everyone seemed content to simply continue as if nothing had happened. It was behavior she was accustomed to, actually. Whether that was healthy or not was another question and one she didn't have the time or energy to address. 

It took them two weeks to reach the Spoiled Princess from Lothering — it was uneventful, and they all fell into an easy pattern of travel each day and watchs each night. They were generally doubling-up on watch given the various threats on the road. The darkspawn the Wardens could usually avoid, but Loghain’s men and the usual bandits were still ever-present. 

As she walked, Emma turned over the various thoughts and worries in her mind — now that she was past the initial battle, her ability to maintain a single-minded focus was pretty non-existent. This meant that her mind was more than content to worry and wonder without regard for her actual preferences. The feeling was reminiscent of the vague relief that came after completing her last college final for the year. Suddenly, she wanted to do absolutely nothing at all. 

This persisted until they reached the inn — she went to sit down and then turned to find Alistair hanging back in the doorway like an afterthought. It made her smile. It was obvious that she wasn't the only one dealing with challenging thoughts and emotions. His answering smile was a little sad, but she could understand that. 

\---

“Now we wait and we pray.”

The templar was going grey around his temples and his armor was obviously well-worn and old — Leliana fingered her bow nervously as they entered the hall in a line behind the ferryman. Getting him to carry them to the tower has been difficult enough, but it seemed that the help they had been hoping to secure would not be easily available to them. 

“The doors are barred,” Alistair murmured. The Warden was gripping his shield so tightly his knuckles were white. “Are they keeping people in or keeping them out?”

“Who the blazes are you,” the templar finally seemed to notice them. He fixed the ferryman with a look that stopped the man short. “Carroll, I explicitly told you that no one was permitted to cross the water until the Knight-Captain returns from Denerim. What is the meaning of this?”

Aedan stepped forward to speak but Emma beat him to it. “Knight-Commander,” she stepped around the nobleman and gave the templar a short bow. “We are Grey Wardens, and we’ve come seeking help for the Blight.” 

Leliana covered a smile as Aedan’s scowl quickly dissolved when the templar looked over. He would be after Emma about it later on, but he could do nothing at the moment without hurting their efforts. 

“Grey Wardens? We already sent eight of our enchanters to help with your war, and only three returned,” the Templar crossed his arms over his armored chest. “The Circle has done enough for you.” 

“On the contrary,” Emma held her hand out to Elissa who quickly handed her one of the treaties. “You are bound to assist us.” The young woman handed him the document and tucked her hands behind her back clearly waiting for him to read it. 

This wasn't well received — the templar took the document but glared at Emma so long that Leliana worried that they would need to come up with another strategy very soon. Just as she thought to speak, the templar grunted and unfurled the parchment. There was a long pause in which the general bustle of the room behind the glowering templar finally attracted Leliana's notice. The quietly controlled chaos of the men and women against the back wall was bleeding over in actual disorder rapidly. Several of the templars were clearly injured and all wore expressions of fear or anger. 

_ And there are no mages with them at all _ . Leliana cocked her head to the side. She wasn't exactly happy about dealing so closely with mages and magic. She knew that they were people, of course, and as such they were as worthy as the Maker’ love, and the love of their fellows, as much as any other. However, the idea of actually having so many mages around her was a little frightening. Morrigan was only one woman and even her power could be quite terrifying. What would ten such figures throwing lighting and fire from their hands do to a city?

A disgusted scoff brought her attention back to the templar in front of her. He snapped the parchment expertly and re-rolled it before handing it back to Emma. 

“It seems we have no choice,” the man declared. “However, you will need to wait until our commitment to the Circle has been completed.”

“What do you mean completed?” Alistair asked.

The Templar studied him for a moment before answering. Was it just her imagination or did he seem to know the warden? “The Circle of Ferelden has fallen. I sent my Knight-Captain to Denerim only a few hours ago to request the Right of Annulment from the Grand Cleric.” 

Alistair’s reaction was immediate and horrified — Leliana looked at Elissa who shrugged. Aedan didn't seem to know what was being discussed either. Emma, of course, didn't move but Leliana saw her jaw tighten. “Forgive me for interrupting,” Leliana said, “but what is the Right of Annulment?”

The templar looked at her but showed no intentions of answering her question. After a moment, Alistair looked up. “The Right of Annulment is only used as a last resort and requires the consent of the Grand Cleric of a given region. It grants – no – it  _ mandates _ that every templar in the Circle find and kill every mage there.” He was visibly pale and shaken. “What happened? Why?” The question was directed toward the templar. 

“We don't know,” the older man admitted. “We only know that we saw both blood mages and demons alike stalking the halls. They attacked indiscriminately. We watched our charges and our brothers fall as we escaped.” He shook his head. For a moment he seemed to shrink and become nothing more than a tried man, past his prime, and bent by grief. “There was nothing we could do to stop it.” 

“No,” Emma replied. “But we can.” 

Aedan seemed to forget his earlier commitment to putting forth a unified front. “Are you mad,” he demanded moving to yell in Emma’s face. 

The young woman squared her shoulders and kept her voice low, “This is how we do this. We go in. We find the First Enchanter, and we save a lot of people. Didn’t you argue for coming here first because of the power mages can contribute in battle?” 

“The tower is full of demons and blood mages,” Aedan made no effort to lower his voice. “There’s no one to save. The templar just told us that. You’re talking about throwing our lives away!” 

“No. I’m not.” Emma’s fists were clenched at her sides. “There are good people still fighting in there, and we can succeed.”

Aedan scoffed and turned to the templar, “The treaty is for the Circle and, last I checked, you templars are part of the Circle. So, you finish killing at the blood mages and then you’re obligated to fight for us, right?”

The older man did not look happy about this arrangement. “Yes. You are correct.”

Leliana jumped in. “Look at them, Aedan.” She gestured to the back wall and the huddle of men and women there. “There are less than a dozen in this room and they will surely encounter resistance when they complete their right, no? A handful of templars will not make the force that a dozen mages could.” 

The man glared at her, “So we leave — we’ll go to Orzammar and recruit there. Hang the Circle.”

Emma stepped past him and stood directly in front of the templar. She was almost of a height with the man, but his heavy armor and frame dwarfed her. “Will you let us into the tower?”

The templar sighed, “Yes, but be warned. I cannot permit you to come back out unless the First Enchanter himself confirms that the tower has been cleansed. Maker help you if he is already dead.” 

She nodded. “Thank you, Knight-Commander.”

Aedan grabbed her by the arm. “We’re not going in there, you fucking cunt!”

Alistair’s armored hand came down on the younger man’s shoulder and hauled him backward. The nobleman lost his footing and went down narrowly missing his sister. 

Emma looked back at him with a cold expression. “You’re not, but I am.” She glanced up at Alistair who nodded tightly. “If we don’t return in time, continue to Orzammar.” 

“I’m going with you,” Elissa stepped forward. Intent on Emma’s face, the girl missed her brother’s wounded expression. He moved to grab her, but Alistair held him back. 

_ Sweet darling.  _ Leliana sighed. Elissa was truly terrified. It made her heart clench in her chest. The girl’s hands were shaking but her jaw was set.

“Very well,” the templar said, pointedly moving his gaze back to Emma. “May the Maker watch over you.”

\---

“Who is that?” The old mage raised her staff in front of her imperiously as Elissa dropped into a crouch just behind her. She knew that Leliana had just put an arrow up inches from her left ear — Alistair moved up to her right as Emma dropped back with her quarterstaff. They hadn't encountered anyone since crossing through Wynne’s barrier but they had stumbled through ankle deep pockets of blood and gore. They were all a bit on edge. 

“I swear to the Maker, I will melt your bloody face into the floorboards! I — Wynne?” The threat was accompanied by a tall man looming out of a doorway close by. He had his staff leveled at the group, but seemed quite shocked to find Wynne at the front of it. “I thought you took the children out of here?”

Elissa relaxed her stance as she heard the creak that was Leliana’s bow being slowly released. The woman returned her arrow to it's quiver and now stepped up to clasp Elissa’s arm, listening intently. 

“I did,” Wynne was saying. “I thought you were going after Irving?”

“I was,” the man replied with a scowl. “But Wynne, they have Solona.”

“What on earth would they want with her?”

“I have no idea, but I need to find her.” 

Wynne waved her hands impatienly. “This is Daylen Amell, one of the enchanters of the circle and my former student.” 

Daylen straightened up and nodded — at his full height he was even taller than Alistair but terribly thin when compared to the other man. 

“You said that they have Solona,” Emma’s voice rose from the back of the group. “Solona Amell?”

Daylen frowned. “Aye? Do you know her?”

Elissa looked back in time to see Emma look away. “After a fashion.”

The man continued to frown in her direction for a moment before Wynne recaptured his attention. “We need to get to Irving, Daylen. Greigor is calling for the Right of Annulment.”

“Of course he is, the daft bastard.” Daylen reached up to rub his forehead. “I take it the only way he won't do that is if we get Iriving away from Uldred?”

Wynne nodded. 

“I bloody hate that man.” The mage leaned against his staff for a moment. “Well, there’s no time like the present. We’ll have to clear the tower anyways, and if we find Solona I have to get her away from them.” He dusted the front of his robes off. The gesture seemed incongruous considering their surroundings.

“Do you know where Uldred took the First Enchanter,” Wynne asked as the other mage turned to leave. 

The man paused and laughed, “Given Uldred’s penchant for the dramatic and forbidden, there’s only one place they could be.”

They all jumped when Alistair spoke up next bringing his sword up as he did so. His expression was grim, “The Harrowing Chamber.” 

\---

The sight of blood splattered across the walls became a regular feature of the tower the further in they crept — pools of blood and more were slowly spreading through the rooms and halls. Emma tried to avoid the worst of it but failed just as often as everyone else. The first floor of the tower was empty of people. There weren't even bodies left behind. Emma didn't want to know why the bodies were missing considering the amount of blood everywhere. 

Her stomach was constantly churning as they walked, but she had yet to be sick. As times to suddenly get used to violent death went, she wasn't exactly happy. They were all on edge and moved as quietly as possible though the darkness. Both Wynne and Daylen know the tower well enough to guide them through it despite the poor light, but not well enough to avoid every scrape and bump and misstep. Each sound they made seemed to echo up and down the tower like a siren. 

Finally, they came to the library — a set of grand double-doors rose into the shadowed ceiling and out of sight. They were surprisingly clean compared to the state of the apprentice quarters they had just passed through. Daylen approached them and rested his hand gently over the crack between them. He almost seemed to be listening to something on the other side like a child at a keyhole. 

After a moment he shook his head. “I can't feel anything or anyone on the other side but that doesn't mean the library is empty. Traps to pull demons from the Fade won’t give off any sign of life until they’re triggered.” He looked back at them. “Be ready.” 

Alistair moved to the front with Elissa and Leliana on either side. Emma dropped in behind them with her staff earning her a curious glance from Wynne. She knew she was hiding, but it seemed like the most responsible thing to do. She had insisted on going with them to the tower since there was no possible way she could explain how to solve the puzzles in the Fade to anyone. Well, maybe Morrigan, but the witch had refused to set foot in the tower. Feeling like nothing more than a giant liability, she gritted her teeth and raised her quarterstaff in front of her. 

The doors swung inward silently and for a moment nothing happened. 

They crept forward, eyes scanning the room in every direction for any sign of a trap. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the bare stone and fallen books tripped them up as they moved. Daylen fell back and let Wynne take the lead. The tall mage was carefully checking specific points along the shelves as they moved past. After the third check, Emma saw something disappear inside his robes. 

It wasn't until they approached the doorway to the central hall that anything happened. Alistair’s hand came up to shove the door open and a scream sounded behind them. They all turned, weapons up to face absolutely nothing out of place. The library was still empty and dark. 

They all waited.

Nothing happened. Alistair looked at her, and she shrugged. Her memory of this part of the game featured demons to fight, but they were all pretty obvious and easy to spot. They shouldn't have been stumbling around in the dark according to what she knew, though, and there should have been bodies. 

They turned back to the door, but Emma saw that Daylen was still looking behind them. She frowned. The darkness at the back of the hall was pretty absolute and the single, tiny window placed high over the shelves left a single square of light in the middle of the floor. It was impossible to see anything past it. She reached out to tug at the mage’s robes and stopped. 

Something moved through the patch of light. She screamed as an explosion of movement boiled up from the shadows. It surged towards them just as Daylen screamed, “Run!” He snatched her arm and they sprinted back the way they came. 

They reached the doors and flew through them, back down the hall, and into the apprentice quarters they had left just a few minutes before. The sound of the double-doors slamming closed echoed like a gunshot. Emma gasped and gripped her side, sliding down to her knees in the half-light. 

It wasn't until she stumbled back from the pool of muck she had just stuck her hands in that she realized she could only hear one other person breathing. 

They had left the others in the library.

\---

Daylen Amell was having a very bad day. A very bad year? Oh, to hell with it: a very bad age. The Dragon Age was a load of absolute bollocks so far. He wasn't much of a runner or a fighter all things considered. Irving hadn't even glanced his way when the king and the Grey Wardens came knocking. Too bloody bad that it was just him and Wynne left to save the grouchy, old arse.

Well, the two of them and Wynne’s new friends. Friend. Fuck. 

Daylen glanced back down the hallway they had just run through. He hadn't even realized that Wynne wasn't behind him until they were through the doors. She was his best hope when it came to saving Solly. He needed her skills. Maker knew he wasn't  _ that _ good on his own. 

A son pulled his attention away from the library to the girl he had dragged with him — woman? Maker. She couldn't have been any older than Solona.  _ Oh, piss. She's just a kid.  _ She was crying and struggling to stand. The moment she was up she turned back toward the library at a dead sprint. 

“No,” he caught her from the side and knocked them both to the ground. She tried to push him off and landed a couple of neat blows to his face before he ducked his head down. He might not be much of a fighter but he was still a damn sight heavier than she was. “You can't help them, lass,” he told her. “You can’t help them. You’ll only get yourself killed. The whole damn library was crawling with those things. You can't go in there.  _ You’ll end up just as dead _ .”

The fight seemed to drain out of her then. Tentatively, Daylen sat up. Even with the bad lighting he could tell that his left eye was already a bit swollen. The girl had managed to clock him nicely. He worked his jaw. “Are you alright?”

She sat up and pushed herself away from him. She was still crying and now there were streaks of blood on her face too. He grimaced. 

“We left them,” she said, voice a little hollow. “We left them to die.”

“There was nothing you could do,” he told her in his best bedcare voice, the one for patients with fever. 

“No,” she agreed, bitterly. “That’s the problem.” She seemed to shrink in size as he watched. He needed to figure out how to pull her out of this and get her thinking otherwise they wouldn't last long either. 

There were plenty of other paths to the second and third floors of the tower. It wasn't necessary to go through the library. With so many people the library had certainly made the most sense, but one of any number of smaller passages would do for just two. He’d been at the Circle almost 30 years. He knew just about every alternative route that existed and a few that really shouldn't have. 

“Look, lass. They could be alive,” he told her. “They might have gotten out through the other door. They might be waiting at the stairs now moaning because they think something happened to you.” Her head came up. “We gotta get up there to meet them before too long. Otherwise, they're gonna run into a whole mess of trouble and you won't be there to help.” 

That got her attention. Her shoulders went back, she pushed herself out of her miserable crouch. “How do we get to the next floor then?”

“I have a couple of ideas about that,” Daylen offered her his hand to shake. “I don't believe I caught your name.”

_ \--- _

Daylen’s secret passage carried them from the back corner of a store room to the hallway directly in front of the First Enchanter’s office. According to the mage, there was a particularly ugly tapestry guarding the mouth of the passage at the other end to keep the templars from noticing. They probably knew about it anyways, but most apprentices knew better than to use a passage that would spit them out right in front of the First Enchanter. So, it wasn't really guarded. 

It was also very tight. They had to lay flat on their stomachs and use their arms to drag themselves up to the top. Thankfully, the last few feet of the passage expanded to form a small closet where it met the wall and its tapestry. So, there was no need to crawl out onto the floor several feet below. 

Daylen went first and cleared out most of the dust and cobwebs with his robes. Unfortunately, that put the soiled hem very close to Emma’s face. She was extraordinarily grateful for her stomach’s recent choice to be a bit stronger. 

When she reached the top, Daylen helped her out of the narrow passage and into the dark room. She could see thin cracks of light in the wall where she assumed the door was. Daylen placed his hands against the stone and waited. This time, she could also hear whatever it was he was listening for. 

Heavy footsteps from several pairs of boots were passing close by. For a moment, Emma’s heart soared assuming it was her companions, but then a harsh laugh shattered that hope. Several others joined in as they heard something impact the floor in the hall beyond them. Rather, someone. The sound has definitely been someone hitting the floor. Hard. 

Daylen's jaw was visibly tight in the dim light — he waited until the sounds had moved past them before pushing the doorway ajar slightly and peering out. 

Beyond him, Emma could see a group of templars driving a single figure toward the stairs at the end of the hall. Emma could just make out long black hair down a back covered in ballooning robes. 

“Who is that?” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears. She reached out and gripped Daylen’s arm tightly as the group of templars disappeared around the curve of the hall. 

Daylen waited a long moment before pushing the doorway open the rest of the way. The tapestry fluttered around them as they climbed out of the passage. “That was my niece, Solona Amell. She was made tranquil almost two months ago.” He frowned. “Didn’t you say you knew her?”

Bile rose in her throat, and she pulled away from him to be sick. Nothing came up. Frustrated she leaned her head against the cool stone of the wall. At this point, she would probably feel better if she did get sick.

She took a long breath and wiped her mouth with the edge of her tunic. “What happened?”

Daylen’s thin face was heavily shadowed as he scanned the hall around them. He gestured her forward and they crept to another doorway closer to the stairs at the end of the hall. “She wanted to help a friend. He convinced her that the First Enchanter had plans to make him tranquil, and they broke into the phylactery chamber, found his phylactery, and smashed it. She was just an apprentice. Only 19. I never thought she would be involved in such a thing. I hate it here as much as any other mage, but I’m not daft. I know full well that the Circle is the only place a mage can learn with other mages and be safe. People don't like magic. They don't like it so much that every templar in this fucking tower has at least one story of arriving too late to save a child from the hands of a mob.” Daylen shook his head. “I don't like the bastards, and they are bastards, but I can tell you that I much prefer being here to being burned at the stake because I tried to warm my hands up with a bit of fire.”

“As it turns out, her friend was a blood mage, and he left her behind. Those bastards made her tranquil, and nothing I said to the First Enchanter would change his mind.” The older man closed his eyes for a long moment. “She used to steal sweets from the kitchen and hide in cupboards to eat them. She would slip trashy stories inside her study tomes and read them in the middle of lessons.” His voice was tight and angry. 

This twisted retelling of Jowan’s betrayal was hard to hear. It hit Emma suddenly that, in many ways, she was just as out-of-her-depth here as anyone else in Thedas. She might know what could happen in the long run, but the individual suffering of people? No. She knew nothing about that. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, “Daylen? I’m so sorry.”

The mage turned toward her and for a long moment he just stared at her. “Don’t be,” he told her. “Pity won't help her.” He left her there and continued his silent way to the steps at the end of the hall. After a moment Emma ran to catch up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm supposed to have favorite characters, but Daylen might be my favorite character. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Fade. It’s sad here.

**_Here they come._ **

The regent grunted and lifted his quill from the ruined parchment — a tremor in his arm had smashed the pen leaving ink all over the page. With a snarl he tossed it onto the desk and pushed himself away. 

Denerim was unseasonably hot though the summer solstice had just passed a few days before — all across the northern half of the country, farmers were struggling to maintain their crops. Talk of another dry summer had many wearing worried expressions.The grand cleric had written a bloody novel about her concerns for the nation, all but calling him a usurper. Loghain had been trying for three days now to write a formal response that would not end with an exalted march on the capital. Bloody woman. She was just another Orlesian pawn of that hag on the sunburst throne. Even that whore empress was bound to obey her. 

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts, “Enter.”

The new Teyrn of Highever sauntered in — Howe had wasted no time getting settled in his new role. His flawless drake-skin armor gleamed in the faint light of the evening and he seemed to almost ooze with smug self-assurance. Loghain found that he often wanted to strike the man squarely in that hawkish nose of his, but he had been very useful so far. Still, he was sure the time would come. 

He didn’t notice the elf trailing the Teyrn until he stepped away from the other man. Loghain narrowed his eyes. So this was the Antivan Crow. 

He seemed perfectly ordinary, though darker of skin than the average Ferelden. He was dressed in simple leather armor with his hair hidden by a cap. The only weapon Loghain could see was a long knife at his waist. 

_Fucking foreigners. They can’t even be taught to kill people correctly._

**_So difficult to find good help these days, isn’t it?_ **

The regent pushed away the unasked for thought and focused his attention on his guests. “You’re the Crow they sent for the contract?” He demanded. 

“Yes,” the elf replied. His accent was thick and his voice lazy. “I am.”

“Where are the rest of you,” Loghain asked. 

“It is just me, ser,” the elf gave a short bow. 

“I asked for people to kill Grey Wardens. Three of them,” Loghain snapped. “And all the Crows send is one bloody elf? What kind of nonsense is this?”

The elf didn’t even bat an eye. “I assure you, ser, we will end this arrangement with three dead Grey Wardens.”

Loghain snorted, “You had better hope so.”

—-

The sound of the door slamming shut behind them echoed through the round hall in which they now stood. Alistair leaned against the wall and gasped, still shaking with adrenaline. He hadn’t gotten a good look at whatever was coming after them, and he was sort of grateful for that. His imagination was more than sufficient to fuel his nightmares at the moment. 

Around him the others were catching their own breath, and Wynne was already waving her staff in front of the door they had just passed through. A shimmering barrier dropped into place encompassing the door and the wall immediately around it. It was actually sort of comforting. Remembering his training he could feel the echoes of her magic like the after-feeling of a wave. He knew that proper templars who took lyrium would be able to feel much more than that, but he wasn’t about to try.

“Alistair!”

A shout had him back on his feet a moment later. Leliana was looking at him with a bewildered expression on her pretty face. He scanned the room trying to find whatever had frightened her. 

“Alistair,” she began again. “Emma isn’t with us!”

—-

Elissa was exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached and the adrenaline in her blood was still trying to find some sort of outlet. She had been on edge for hours now as they quietly crossed the tower, peering into every room even though they already knew what they would see there. Blood. Gore. Silence. The silence was the worst part. It seemed to sink over them like a blanket. It was suffocating. 

Emma’s loss felt like a physical blow to her chest — it might be foolish, but she had trusted in Emma’s knowledge and self-assurance to get them safely through the Blight. Without her they would be stumbling around in the dark. Just like they were now. 

Alistair hadn’t spoken at all since Leliana had realized they were missing people. He led them down the hall just in front of Wynne with a grim expression that showed no signs of letting up. 

The second floor was empty. Nothing leapt out at them and they didn’t run into anyone or anything else. At the end of the long hallway was another set of stairs with a door at the top. 

Wynne went first and cracked the door open ever-so-slightly before she gave a cry and threw it open completely. For a moment, they all stared after her as she ran into the room. Then, they saw what she had seen.

In the center of the room, both Emma and the other mage, Daylen, were slumped against a long table. Leliana darted forward and followed the older woman inside. Elissa and Alistair came in more slowly scanning for threats. 

Nothing moved inside the room. It was entirely empty save for the table and their companions. They looked at one another and quickly sheathed their weapons. 

“Daylen must have used a different path to reach the second floor,” Wynne was saying gently checking that they were both still breathing. 

Elissa sat down beside the table, “I wonder how they escaped the library.” 

Leliana joined her leaning back against the sturdy wood. “They must have gone back the way that we came or gone through a secret passage?” She yawned. “I am assuming this tower is quite full of secret passageways and nooks.”

Alistair stumbled on his way over to join them and almost dropped his shield. The noise startled them all upright again. 

“Maker, but I am so tired,” the Warden dropped down in front of Emma’s slumped figure. “This has been a nightmare.”

“Yes,” Elissa said, feeling odd. Why was she so tired all of a sudden? Hadn’t they all been tense with adrenaline just a few moments ago?

“Regardless,” Wynne said from where she was now leaning against the table. “We have to keep going. We’re almost to the Harrowing Chamber, and Greigor will not wait forever.”

“Yes,” Elissa said again, feeling her head droop. Beside her Leliana had already closed her eyes and was curled up on the floor. Elissa blinked. This was wrong. _Something_ was wrong but she couldn’t say just what it was. 

_I’m so tired. So tired._

Wynne was the last one to succumb to the pull of rest — she was a skilled and experienced mage and every fiber of her being instinctively fought the pull of magic, but it was for naught. Her last thought as she lay her head down was to ask forgiveness for leading these poor children into this terrible place. 

—-

“Oh, fuck me.” 

Daylen looked about the room for his spectacles — Marie needed his help with the baby, and he couldn’t see a bloody thing. The poor lass just needed a bit of bouncing to pull her out of her fuss, but he was worried he might grab her wrong. She was still too young to support her neck properly. 

“I hear you, lamb,” he called soothingly. They had named her Sorcha after his favorite aunt. Sorcha Amell had taught him everything he knew about herbs and healing. She was a kind old bat, though a bit off these days. Always fussing about people that had long since gone and passed. He was intent on finding a cure for what seemed to be a general loss of her ability to understand the world around her. Some days she was perfectly alright and would harp on him for some slight, and others she barely knew who he was. 

“Ah!” His hands closed around his wire frame spectacles and he turned with a flourish to slip them on. Poor little Sorcha was still screaming up to the sky, her bare bottom clean but uncovered. Marie had been finishing up her bath when someone had stopped by, drawing his wife away from the babe. 

“Now, lamb. What are you squalling for?” He secured a cloth diaper and dress around her little frame before scooping her up into his arms. Bouncing her gently, he crossed the room and peered out to find his wife chatting with the neighbor. 

“Daylen,” she called. “Arden’s wife is complaining of pains in her stomach. She’s worried about the baby.”

He frowned. “It’s a bit early for her to be having the baby yet. Are they coming and going a bit? Stopping for a while and then coming back a few hours later?”

The other man wrung his hands. “I think so, ser, but it’s our first child, and she’s so worried…” he trailed off and gave Daylen a pleading glance. 

It was hard not to laugh. Daylen was a healer, and he’d been through the same panic just a few months before. “Most likely they’re just the early pains. They start about a month or so before the baby is born, and they come and go pretty quickly. Nothing to worry about, but I’ll come take a look just to be sure. How’s that?”

The man looked ready to faint with relief.

Daylen did laugh then and handed Sorcha to his wife. He turned to grab his satchel from its hook on the wall by the door, took two bottles from the high shelf above it, and tucked them into the front of his robes. 

As he did so, he felt something else there. Puzzled, he pulled it out. A small scroll sat on his palm. He had no memory of how it had gotten there or even what it was. Frowning now, he broke the wax sealing it shut and unfurled it. 

It only took a few moments for the world around him to begin to disappear — he had barely finished the first line when memory returned, and he knew that when he looked away from the page all he would see was the cold green outline of the Fade. He took a shuddering breath. Was it desire that held him? He could certainly understand a demon plucking his desire for loving family from his mind. All mages had that same basic desire. The shared trauma of being torn from their families as children had done that to all of them. 

The scroll was the Litany of Adralla, of course. Adralla herself had spent the final years of her life in Ferelden, and the Circle has benefited greatly from her knowledge and expertise. The Senior Enchanters of the past had created several copies of Adralla’s litany and tucked them into odd nooks and crannies all around the Circle to give the mages a chance to prevent exactly what was currently happening. Anyone could use the litany, of course, but they had refrained from telling the templars about it. Like all mages, they didn’t much trust their jailers. 

Daylen had found one of the copies by accident several years ago and upon showing it to Wynne had gotten the whole explanation from his mentor. After that, he made a point of finding all of the others.

He finished reading the scroll and let it roll back up. The Fade greeted him as it usually did, slightly creepy and very unhelp. If he was here, he imagined that Emma was probably here as well though he really hoped that Wynne and the rest of Emma’s companions had managed to avoid the trap they’d fallen into. He would need to find them and release them if they were here. None of them were mages, so it wasn’t terribly likely that they would be able to escape themselves, and none of them had the Litany that he was aware of. 

Summoning his power he reached out with his will and tried to find Wynne. Looking for someone or something in the Fade was a bit like trying to track someone through a mansion by a trace of perfume. This was made especially difficult by the fact that additional scents were constantly being thrown at you by other people and things in the house. 

Still, there was the faintest sense of something that was enough for him to draw on. Daylen felt his energy build and then threw it forward as he took a step through the Fade. 

—-

Wynne waved as the last of her students packed their books away and departed the house. They’d been talking about fever all morning, and several of them had come to her with very good questions. It was a testament to their ability and also to her instruction. She checked the pot that had been simmering on the fire most of the day before she went to find her grandson. 

She found him outside among the grapes. He was climbing the vines, and she winced as Adrian went tumbling from the arbor. Again. He was such a clumsy child but so unbearably sweet that she didn’t have the heart to scold him. He jumped back up a moment later with a grin on his face and dirt across his cheek, grasping hands reaching for the wooden slats. 

“Don’t you dare, young man,” she called. Caught in the act, the child dropped his hands and gave her a bashful grin. She shook her head. “Dinner is almost ready.” She glanced toward the shed on the other side of the vegetable garden. “Go get your father, love.” 

She turned to go back into the house and stopped short. A tall man in robes stood in her way. He was watching her sadly with a scroll held, unfurled, in his long-fingered hands. 

She took a step back, “Maker’s tears, you scared me. Are you here to see Rhys?”

The man’s brows came together in confusion. “Oh, maybe you’re here for Emmaline?” Wynne continued. “She’s gone to the city for the week, but she’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

Still the man didn’t move — from behind her, she could hear Adrian leaping through the garden exactly as she often told him not to. Slower footsteps behind him had to be Rhys, her son. 

This stranger looked over her shoulder for a moment and then back to her, “I’m sorry, Wynne. I guess I’m not the only poor slob missing the family he never had.” He shook his head. “We have to go.”

“Go,” she echoed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He didn’t reply but began reading from his scroll in a quiet lilting voice. Wynne felt the force of his words flood through her but didn’t speak until he was done. 

She looked at her hands. The pale light of the Fade made them look green and sickly. Tears sprang up in her eyes but she blinked them away. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s time to go.” 

—-

It was Duncan who suggested the drinking contest — apparently their reserved commander had felt left out last time. They all eagerly accepted the challenge. They deserved a chance to celebrate after all. 

The Blight was over, and the archdemon slain. Alistair had never been congratulated, or slapped on the back till he was black and blue, more in his life. At the moment when all had seemed lost, he’d taken the beast across the belly with his sword ending the Blight in one mighty blow. 

He grinned into his fourth pint of good ale that night — Arl Eamon had put them up in his own home and charged his staff to prepare a grand banquet for them all. Every Warden was attired in proper wool dyed blue and silver. At the head of the table, the arl beamed at him. 

Duncan was recounting the story of Alistair’s victory yet again — his proud expression meant more to Alistair than anything else in that moment. He had made Duncan proud of him, and that was all that truly mattered. 

“Young man, this is not the time to be celebrating.”

The voice came from an old woman in long robes just at his elbow. Alistair looked up at her in confusion and put his drink down. Where on earth had she come from? Just behind her, a man in robes was unrolling a little scroll. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud as Alistair started to stand.

But the time he was fully upright the banquet hall had faded away. His blue and silver tunic dissolved into stained and scratched ringmail. His hands began shaking, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat.

_That’s right. Duncan died. I’m alone._

Alistair brought his head up to face Wynne. “When are we leaving, then?”

—-

Elissa watched her brothers spar in the yard with her parents on either side of her — it was a warm day and the sun beat down on their efforts, baking the ground beneath their feet. Fergus didn’t seem to be trying very hard to keep up with Aedan. Her eldest brother had always excelled at whatever task he was given. Her parents were always so proud of Fergus, and Aedan was forever trying to keep up. Elissa wished she could join them and stand with them as equals in her parents eyes, but she also knew that her desire to do so was learned. She did all the things her parents asked of her because it was expected, and the burning desire to be a true Cousland was just another part of her obligations. 

She swallowed. Such uncharitable thoughts about the dead would be abhorrent in the Maker’s eyes. 

She knew that the world around her was a fabrication. Nothing could remove the memory of her father bleeding on the cellar floor, or her mother’s blank expression as she knelt beside him. The memory was too strong and too fresh to be taken from her, but she still didn’t know where she was or how to escape. She knew that she’d fallen asleep in the tower with everyone else. At least, she assumed she was asleep. If that were the case, did that mean she was in the Fade?

She knew very little about the Fade other than what Mother Mallol had taught her. The Fade was where people went when they slept. It was where the souls of the newly dead went on their way to the Maker’s side. It was also full of demons. 

Elissa stood up and moved away from the figures of her parents. Were the souls of her mother and father caught in the Fade still or were these demons here to trick her?

_I don’t want to be here anymore._ She closed her eyes. Maybe she could wake herself up like she had from nightmares as a child. _I want to wake up. I want to be back with my companions and Aedan and Leliana —_

She felt the air shift around her and jumped, sure that a demon had snuck up on her while she was distracted. Instead of the sun-baked courtyard, she was in a small room lined with books and scrolls. A little desk was tucked into one corner with a small bed beside it. 

A woman in Chantry robes sat at the desk writing — Elissa didn’t know who she was but the air of competence and compassion that seemed to cover her like a mantle put her at ease almost immediately. She took a step closer and noticed that the bed also had an occupant. The figure had red hair shorn close to the scalp and their back was to her. Elissa frowned. With the long shift the figure wore it was hard to make out any sense of shape. 

The woman at the desk startled her by speaking, “Leliana, child.” She had a thick Orlesian accent and a sweet voice. “There is someone here to see you.” 

The figure on the bed sat up and turned toward her — it was definitely Leliana but her skin was even paler than usual and her cheekbones seemed to push against it like boning through cloth. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her expression was serene almost entranced. 

“Hello,” the woman said quietly. Her accent was thicker than Elissa had ever heard it. “Who are you?” 

Elissa wasn’t sure how to respond. In her mind, Leliana was an icon. She was a sister of the Chantry and a skilled fighter and mediator. Elissa admired her unrepentantly as the embodiment of everything Elissa thought that she wanted to be. She knew that Leliana’s mother had died when she was a child, but Lady Celcilie had poured her time and love into Leliana. She had let Leliana pursue the music that had been her passion. She had been given all the resources Elissa had possessed and true freedom to use them as she would. Elissa found herself constantly a little envious of the other woman, but mostly, she idolized her. Given all the benefits of nobility and talent, Leliana had still elected to become a sister. A selfless and noble choice which, in Elissa’s mind, made the other woman all the more amazing. 

The Leliana in front of her was clearly suffering, however. She was malnourished and obviously quite ill, and her expression quickly shifted from serenity to uncertainty. Elissa couldn’t see her own expression, but she knew that it must have shown at least some of her thoughts. She watched Leliana’s face move from wary confusion to true anxiety and fear. 

The young noblewoman took a step back, “I’m sorry.” She backed into something solid behind her that let out a soft “Oof.” Elissa cringed away and came face-to-face with an embarrassed looking Alistair who gave her a sheepish smile. Wynne and Daylen were waiting beside him. Wynne appeared to be carefully studying Leliana while the other man was holding up a scroll. 

A moment later, the knowledge that she was dreaming came rushing back to her. She heard Leliana gasp behind her and assumed that she had also come to a similar realization. Elissa swallowed and ignored the desire to turn back to Leliana. She reached out to grasp the old mage’s sleeve, “How do we get out of here?”

—-

“Are you fucking kidding me? You little tramp! Get back here!” 

Emma sprinted down the stairs. “Shit! Shit! We gotta go!” 

“We’re waiting on you, asshole!”

She grabbed the corner of the hallway wall and threw herself around it. Katie caught her and they tumbled out the door. Aaron was already waiting with his car in front of the house, and they ran for it. The doors slammed and the little Civic peeled out into the road. She and Katie were sliding around the back seat still laughing uproariously. 

“Why is your sister so goddamn crazy?”

Emma snorted. “I have no idea. It’s just a shirt.”

Aaron glanced at her in the rear view mirror, and Emma winked at him. He laughed, “It’s a pretty great shirt.”

“Get a fucking room, you assholes,” Katie complained, claiming half off the backseat for herself and then propping her feet up in Emma’s lap. She whipped her phone out and held it up to take a photo. “Smile! You’re gonna get super fucking hammered tonight!”

Emma groaned. “You’re making a Snapchat aren’t you?”

“Yup!”

“You’re an ass,” Emma replied with her best smile. “Fuck you and all the shitty guys who are going to watch this becuse you posted it.” 

“Ouch,” Katie replied, drawing out the word. “I’m so hurt, sweetheart. There goes your birthday drink.” 

“Bitch,” Emma shot back, flipping her off. 

They barreled down 99E heading toward the city — Aaron’s regard for the speed limit was a formality at the best of times. He was changing lanes around slower vehicles with a sort of glee that was more attractive than it should have been. 

“So, where are you asshats taking me,” Emma asked. 

Katie glanced up from her phone screen, “Why the hell would we tell you that?”

“Katie!” Aaron glanced back at them, his voice full of reproach.

“Fine,” she flipped him off. “We’re going to CC Slaughters. They have a drag show happening tonight.”

Emma grinned. “I love you so much right now.”

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Katie waved her hand, eyes still on her screen. “If you keep saying nice things like that, we’re going to have to pay for Aaron to get his back seat dry cleaned.”

Emma laughed. “I don't think you can dry clean a car, Kates.”

The other woman laughed and tossed her hair, “Don’t harass me with the details.” 

The back-and-forth continued all the way into Portland and across the river — Aaron managed to find a half-way decent parking space only three blocks from the bar. Katie was out of the car the moment it stopped moving and hopped up on the curb to shout snide remarks about Aaron’s parallel parking. 

Emma climbed out of the car and met her friends on the sidewalk — linking arms, they walked the rest of the way to the bar in high spirits. 

She was inordinately grateful for the shirt she’d borrowed from her sister’s closet — it was black polyester trimmed with fake leather, sleeveless with a deep neckline and flared hem that made her waist appear several inches smaller. Paired with a wine red skirt and heels, she felt like a million bucks. Aaron’s obvious appreciation did a lot to help with that. 

She stopped them as they reached the bar and made them stand with her to take a picture — she laughed as they both leaned in to kiss her cheeks for the last photo. She tucked her phone away with a flourish, turned to join the line into the club, and froze. 

“What the fuck?”

There were five people standing in front of them that she was pretty sure hadn't been there a moment ago. They were all looking around with the kind of bewildered expressions she associated with surprise midterms. They were also wearing clothes straight out of a medieval reenactment club or a video game. Honestly, it was kind of cool. A little odd, sure, but this was Portland. Who the fuck cared?

“Damn. Your costumes are hella good,” she grinned. “I didn't realize there was a con happening.” She now seemed to have their undivided attention, and she recognized a couple of the costumes.

She felt Katie’s hand on her arm and gave her friend a reassuring smile. “We apparently missed the costume memo.”

The group in what appeared to be Dragon Age cosplay costumes were still staring directly at her and hadn't responded at all to what she’s said. Feeling kind of creeped out now, she pulled back. “Well, have a good night!” She moved past them and dragged Katie along with her. 

Someone grabbed her from behind, and she lurched away from them. “What the fuck?” Her voice rose sharply. One of the cosplayers grabbed her by the arm and held on even as she struggled to pull herself free. When that didn't seem to make a difference she lashed out, trying to kick him in the knee or groin. 

Her foot collided with the top of his metal boots and pain shot through her. With a cry, she resumed her efforts to escape by tugging against the hands holding her in place.

The transition from the dream to reality was sudden and shocking — Emma stopped moving and stood perfectly still. Alistair let go of her arm and stepped back. Taking deep breaths, she did her best to process as much as what had just happened as she reasonably could without bursting into tears. She was full of adrenaline. Having Alistair grab her when she didn't remember him hadn't been good for her already limping mental health. Reliving her 22nd birthday with her best friend and her ex also hadn't done anything for her peace of mind. 

Her stomach was still being cooperative though it had decided to drop to somewhere around her toes — Emma swallowed and decisively packed her thoughts away for the moment, promising herself that she would face it later. 

When she looked up, she saw Alistair look away, and was momentarily distracted by that before Daylen caught her attention. 

“I think we’ve got everyone,” the mage declared wagging the little scroll at them. “Let’s deal with the demon holding us here and be off.”

“Yes,” Wynne agreed. The old woman wasl staring at Emma warily. “Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter 6! Work is getting really busy for me so there may be a slight delay in getting chapter 7 posted.


	7. Chapter 7

Looking for a demon wasn’t exactly the cleverest thing you could do — Alistair kept his hands tight on his sword as they moved. He really wished the other mage – Daylen – would just use that scroll of his to get them out of the Fade, but apparently it didn't work like that. It would stop manipulation of the mind and it could even destroy lesser demons, but getting out was going to require killing whatever was holding them there. 

Why exactly had he agreed to go along with all of this? Alistair was dead tired and his brain felt fuzzy. It was like his head was stuffed with cotton and soaked in spirits. Some distant part of him noted that this was probably the result of 1) staying so long in the Fade, 2) having a demon play around with his mind, and 3) having spent a few blissful moments feeling like he wasn’t a complete failure as a Warden. It stung. It was distant and there was cotton in the way, but he knew it was there. The Duncan the demon had created had been proud of him. He wasn't so sure the real Duncan would be. 

They stopped for a break as the area they passed into became harder to traverse. Apparently, the mages – and Elissa – had figured out how to find everyone else by simply wishing to. Since they didn't know who or what they were looking for, that wasn't going to work this time. Daylen and Wynne both insisted that they could  _ feel _ the presence of the demon, however. So they all fell into line behind the mages. 

Alistair dropped down on a promising bit of stone and stretched out his legs — Leliana perched herself beside him, but he noticed that she was watching Elissa with a distracted expression on her face. The noblewoman hadn't said much of anything to anyone since they found her. Not that any of them felt like talking. Nothing like having your soul barred to near stranges. 

He glanced back to where Emma was leaning against her quarterstaff a little ways behind them — he didn't have the foggiest clue what to say to her. When they found her it had taken him several minutes just to pick her out from _ everything else _ . Wherever they went had been so packed with people and buildings and  _ things _ he had no conceivable name for, it was impossible to focus on any one person. When he had finally looked at her, the things her bodice had done to her body and the miles of bare skin visible had cleared his head of all rational thoughts. He regretted grabbing her, and he knew the action had frightened her badly. He had watched the panic in her face change into shock as the place around them melted back into the green light of the Fade. 

Alistair brought his attention back to the present as his stomach dropped with guilt — the Emma in the here-and-now was covered in grime and looked about as weary as he felt. She looked up and caught him staring. Her expression was sad enough to put a stopper on his current train of thought. The blood on her face hid her freckles from view and made her look even paler than usual. 

He tried to smile, and he knew she tried to smile back. He also knew they both ended up grimacing at each other. Wynne chose that moment to call them back to their feet, and they obediently lined up behind her. 

It felt like hours had passed before Wynne and Daylen finally stopped for the last time — the old mage turned to them. “You can probably feel it now,” she said. “The demon is quite close, and I have a feeling I know what we’re facing.” Her voice was strained. “Hunger demons are cowards. They like to hide behind lesser demons.”

Alistair felt sick to his stomach. “Oh, Maker. Now we know why there were no bodies.”

The three younger women looked at him in horror. “The demons  _ ate _ them?” Elissa’s voice was shaking. 

“Aye,” Daylen wasn’t looking at them but watching the Fade around them warily. “The things we saw in the library? Lesser demons. The people in the Circle were probably their payment for helping this demon. They’re all some sort of hunger or gluttony.”

“Oh, fuck,” Emma spoke up now and looked at them with wide eyes. “There are demons of gluttony?”

“There are spirits of every human idea and emotion,” Wynne told her. “Gluttony is no more dangerous than fear or pride — they just have very different goals.”

“Let me guess,” Alistair said. “The demon’s plan was to trap us long enough to kill us, and then let its minions eat us?”

“Most likely,” Wynne replied. 

“And mages wonder why people fear them,” Leliana said softly. 

“Mages didn’t do this,” Wynne snapped. 

“Yes, they did,” Daylen’s voice was very quiet, but they all heard him clearly. He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with. We’re running out of time.” 

—

Emma was dead on her feet. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in the skin around her skull. She swung her staff as yet another shape lurched out of the twisting mire of the Fade around them and snapped its teeth at her. The lesser hunger demons had taken on the shapes of large hounds. All of them had skin that clung to thin frames, showing ribs and hip bones like knives. They salavated and lunged at any opening, and they howled incessantly. The sound seemed to come from all directions at once, making it impossible to anticipate the next attack. She was back-to-back with Elissa, while Alistair covered Wynne, and Daylen stuck to Leliana. The bard had two long daggers in her hands and a grim expression on her blood splattered face. 

Elissa yelped and Emma felt the young woman spring to the side as another demon leapt at her — Leliana’s knives lashed out to occupy the space the noblewoman had just left and met the creature across the neck. Emma shuddered and kept her eyes forward. The warm spray of blood soaking down her back made her gag, but she wasn’t foolish enough to turn around. 

Their progress was slow — a trail of bloodied hounds marked their descent into what was rapidly becoming a narrow ravine. The high walls helped to lessen the constant attacks from the side, but opened them to attacks from above. The demons had the uncanny ability to scuttle down the shear walls like spiders. They still hadn’t stopped howling. The visibility was just as poor as it had been before, but Wynne was still leading them forward with Alistair just a step behind. The warden was keeping his shield between the mage and all forward assaults. So far, they had made it with only a few scrapes, but they were all flagging. Too much time in the Fade was taking its toll on them. Too many horrors witnessed were doing the same. 

Emma felt her heart skip as the eerie howling suddenly cut off — she glanced forward and caught Alistair’s quick glance around.

A voice rang out from all around them, and Emma nearly tripped over Elissa. The sound was like the braying of dogs but the echoes contained screams. “How disappointing,” it said. “I did so try to fulfill your  _ hunger _ , but you spurned my gifts.”

Emma fought the urge to cover her ears. The lesser demons were still slinking up and down the walls in an odd circling pattern. They weren’t attacking for the moment, but none of her companions had relaxed in the slightest.

“Little princling,” the voice continued and Emma winced. She didn’t know if Alistair had told anyone about his heritage yet. This was definitely not the way he would want that bit of information to be shared. “I gave you acceptance and fulfillment. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you  _ hunger _ for? If Duncan would not accept you? Why would anyone else? What will your fellow wardens say when you fail them? What will  _ she _ say?”

Alistair said nothing as the voice fell silent. It was impossible to tell if the tension in his posture had changed at all. Emma couldn’t see his face, and none of them were moving their eyes too far from the roaming demons.

They continued forward, Wynne stubbornly refusing to be waylaid.

“Sister,” the voice rang out again. “I gave you peace. A peace you have not known for years now. Why did you spurn my gift? Perhaps you truly are  _ starved _ for the vain attentions of your past. What is your Maker compared to the beautiful things you will never have again? The beautiful  _ thing  _ you will never be again?”

Leliana did not let this pass without comment, “The Maker made me whole. You will not delude me for I walk in Andraste’s light.” The bard tossed her red hair. Matted as it was, it was still brighter than anything around them. “You will not fool me, demon.”

_ Fuck _ . Emma swallowed. There was a lump in her throat that was getting harder to breath around as the moments passed.  _ This is the real demon. _

The demon kept up its snide comments. It ridiculed Elissa for wanting her family’s approval, and it scoffed at the mages for their shared desire to have families of their own. 

For a long moment there was silence, and Emma had the momentary hope that it would disregard her, foreign as she was. That hope was quickly dashed.

“What a puzzle you are,” it crooned. “Not of this world yet you think you know it so well.” It cut off in a sound that made them all grit their teeth as it rang out. It wasn’t until it stopped that Emma realized the demon had been laughing. “So wrong. So lost. You should have just stayed in the world that I created for you. A man who desired you. A woman who would have done anything you asked. You want these things. You hunger for the familiar. You yearn for things you can control. How very  _ human _ of you.”

Emma kept her gaze straight ahead.

As the echoes of the demons last words faded away, the ravine fell away abruptly. They were at the bottom of what appeared to be a massive sinkhole. The edges of the ravine spread themselves wide to create an open area easily several hundred yards wide and half a mile deep. It was too dark to see clearly all the way to the other side. Ahead of them, were two pale, sickly yellow lights. It wasn’t until both lights shuttered for a moment before resuming their eerie glow, that Emma realized that they were eyes. 

The demon seemed to materialize out of the gloom — the lights grew closer and the creature’s bulk appeared as if it was simply cut out of the Fade. It towered over them. Like its minions, ribs, shoulder, and hips pressed against the stuff that composed it. It was vaguely humanoid, but easily five times the size it should be with a torso like stretched taffy. Long spindly arms ended in reversed hooks like a praying mantis. It grinned and revealed an over-large mouth with several rows of long, sharp teeth. 

“Welcome,” it said, that awful voice sweeping over them all. “I do hope that you’ve enjoyed your time away from your dreams.”

Wynne raised her chin and her staff, “Release us, demon, or we will strike you down!”

The demon gave a irritated sort of huff as if it were annoyed at being interrupted. It waved one of its clawed hands, “Mortals,” it scoffed. “You all hunger for things, do you not? Things that I can give you. You could be happy. Quite happy and fulfilled for the rest of time. I offer you gifts whose value cannot be measured.”

“We have no desire to be puppets,” Elissa threw back. The young woman’s expression was furious, “We will not be puppets for anyone. No matter what you offer!”

“Really,” the demon sounded almost bored now. Emma was reminded, hysterically, of King Jareth from Labyrinth. 

“Let us go, demon,” she called. “You can offer nothing that we will accept. You have no power to sway us. There is only one way that this will end.”

Its gaze seemed to focus wholly on her for a moment — Emma fought the urge to turn and bolt. Leliana’s hand on her wrist kept her firmly in place. 

The demon laughed again, and she jerked back. Leliana braced her, but Emma was distracted by the ring of lesser demons now boxing them in from behind.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _ She hadn’t even seen them.

“Very well, mortals. Have it your way.” Emma was grateful that she was looking at the lesser demons as they chose that moment to lunge forward as one. She and Leliana lashed out as Daylen took a step back to fall behind them. He was already reciting the words of the litany seemingly from memory at this point. His hands came forward to send a volley of ice at the creatures. Leliana stepped forward and darted left to take a demon in the throat with her daggers, as Emma brough her staff down on the head of another.

A third demon leapt and fixed its teeth around her wrist. She screamed and tore her arm from its grasp as Elissa’s sword sunk into its side. Blood dripped down her arm and the white gleam of bone showed through the shredded skin. The pain shot up her arm and into her shoulders. Emma stared at her hand in horror before she was hauled back by a strong arm.

Alistair let go once she was pressed against his back and turned his attention to the front of the fight once more — he and Wynne were keeping the hunger demon occupied through a combination of flashy spells and brutal strikes. Already, it was sporting several wounds that were seeping with black ichor. Alistair had matching marks on his face and arms. As she watched, Wynne tossed something bright and wide over the creature. The shining net only held it for a moment, but it was long enough for Alistair to dart in with and remove a chunk of its spindly left leg with a sweep of his sword. It screamed and lashed out at him, but hit a solid barrier around the warrior that flashed with power. Alistair followed the blow with his shield, smashing the demon’s clawed arm as it drew back.

Leliana was suddenly in front of them and brought her daggers around to catch the demon in what remained of its bad leg. Emma glanced back to see that the lesser demons were gone completely. Even the bodies of the creatures that had killed were missing. A shout brought her attention forward again. Leliana danced nimbly away from the demon as it stumbled and roared right into Elissa’s waiting blade. The noblewoman lunged forward, but her sword glanced off its ribs. A moment later, the demon’s arm came down and sent the woman flying. 

“No!” Leliana cried. The bard did not move, however. She circled closer to where Alistair and Wynne were still continuing their game of distraction. Wynne’s next spell caught the demon in the eye. Both Leliana and Alistair lunged forward with blades extended. Leliana’s seemed to glance off again, but Alistair’s sunk through the creature’s chest and out the other side. The warrior had to abandon the blade where it was in order to roll out of the way of the demon’s retaliation. 

Emma shuddered as the demon keened and lashed out. It caught Alistair in the chest, knocking the warrior to the ground. Another strike went for Leliana but the bard rolled out of the way before it could connect. A wall of ice sprang up around and through the creature as Daylen and Wynne both raised their hands toward it. The demon shrieked again as the spears of ice between its emaciated ribs grew in size, cracking the bones around it and ripping it open. It clawed at the spell and tried to pull one of the shards out, but its attempts were weak and growing clumsier by the moment. Emma watched as the demon collapsed to its remaining leg before finally dropping to the ground — it scrabbled in the dirt for a long moment and then lay still. 

A hand gripped her shoulder for a moment as Daylen pushed past her, intent on Elissa. Leliana had already dropped to the ground beside the noblewoman. Emma couldn’t see if she was still breathing or not, but Daylen’s hands were already checking for a pulse and searching for injuries. A touch to her arm made her jump. Wynne was reaching for her hand with a concerned expression, and Emma realized with mild surprise that she could no longer feel her right arm below the elbow. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Upon awakening, Daylen found that his limbs were quite stiff and sore — he stood up slowly, first rolling onto his hands and knees to allow the feeling to come back to his arms and legs. Around him, everyone else seemed to be having a similar experience. Wynne, in particular, was struggling to sit up at all. 

He watched the warden move to help the older mage and concentrated on getting his feet beneath him. He could feel the Litany of Adralla pressed against his chest in the pocket of his robes. It had saved their asses handily. He honestly didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t had it. They would probably have stayed in the Fade until their bodies died of neglect or the templars beheaded them on their way to the Harrowing Chamber. It was a sobering thought. 

Not that this entire experience hadn’t been gruesomely sobering — he could feel the bruises and scrapes he had obtained in the Fade already blooming over his body. Just a few feet away, he could see the girl, Emma, curled up on her side cradling her injured arm. 

_ Some day, _ he thought grimly.  _ I will find out why injuries in the Fade persist in the real world, and I will throttle whoever decided to make it that way. _

He knelt down beside her and carefully drew her up to her knees — Wynne was up now and checking over the other girl who had gotten hurt. Emelia? Lissa? He couldn’t quite remember her name. Emma was crying in little choking sobs. She wasn’t in pain, he knew, but she was likely very frightened. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“Warden,” he called. The other man’s head snapped up. Daylen gestured him over. “I need you to hold her down and keep her from looking at what I’m going to do.”

The younger man’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He stripped off his shield and pulled Emma into his lap. The girl was dazed, but seemed to snap out of it finally as he wrapped his arms and legs around her. Her left arm was pinned to his breastplate, and her head was firmly tucked into his shoulder so that she could not turn. 

Daylen nodded. That would have to do.

He and Wynne had already confirmed that the bite was poison before they all awoke — he had been able to stabilize the noblewoman before Wynne had called him over. The older mage had a dagger against the young woman’s arm and was making careful cuts to test for feeling. Emma hadn’t flinched at all until the red lines had approached her elbow. Wynne had met his eyes, then. They hadn’t needed any words to share their conclusion.

Some toxin from the demon that had bitten her was making its way through her body — if it reached her heart, well, if they were lucky she would just be dead. If they were unlucky, they would all be dead shortly thereafter.

Daylen followed the line of cuts and pinched the skin just below Emma’s elbow. “Can you feel this?”

She tried to shake her head, but the warden was still holding her in place. “No,” she whispered, voice breaking. Louder, she repeated her answer, “No.”

He had to hand it to her, she was a damn brave lass. He moved his hands higher, “Here?”

“No.”

Fuck. “Here?”

She seemed to consider this for a moment. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t see her face, “I’m not sure. I think so?”

He adjusted his hands once more. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He reached for the Fade and wove an ice spell before sinking it into the skin of Emma’s arm. She was going to feel the pain either way, but he would at least give her the courtesy of trying to numb some of it. Losing an arm seemed a painful enough experience without the actual trauma of it being cut away.

He kept one hand around her arm just above the elbow and reached into his robes. “Put this between your teeth.” She obediently took the strip that he forced between her lips. “Don’t try to look back.”

She was shaking, but silent. Daylen looked up into the warden’s eyes and saw a sort of resigned horror there that was becoming more familiar than he would have liked. “Don’t let her move.” The younger man swallowed and nodded. 

It was over quickly. The benefit to amputation with magic was that a sharp concentration of fire magic could cut through just about anything and also instantly cauterize the wound. Emma screamed with the initial bite of magic, and then bit down on the leather so hard Daylen heard her jaw creak. The screams had continued after a long moment, muffled by the leather bit. She was now crying quietly, still sitting in the warden’s lap. The other man no longer had her pinned in place, but was gently stroking her hair. His face was ashen, and his hands shook. Daylen poured a generous amount of healing magic into the remaining limb and saw Emma’s shoulders visibly release. He removed the now separated arm. There was a fireplace on the far side of the room. He settled it among the ashes and noticed that the fingers were beginning to turn an ugly shade of brown at the tips. It was a small comfort to know that he had been right, at least.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Daylen looked up into Wynne’s pale eyes. “How is she,” the older mage asked. 

“As well as can be expected,” he returned. “How is our other companion?”

“As well as can be expected,” Wynne returned shortly. “We must keep moving.”

Daylen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter. It was also a beast to write. We're almost done with the Circle Tower. Only one, maybe two more chapters to go.


	8. Chapter 8

Leliana waited for her companions to limp toward the stairs ahead of her — her eyes were trained in Elissa’s slumped form. The noblewoman was avoiding her gaze, and she had been for some time now. Time being relative in the Fade as Daylen had so helpfully explained. They could have been asleep for mere minutes or even days. No one had killed them in their sleep so it was unlikely that weeks had passed. Their best judge was that some hours had been spent stumbling through their shared nightmaren, and it was still the same day on which they had entered the tower. 

Emma came up the stairs next. Wynne had ripped a length of cloth from her robes and bound the end of Emma’s right arm tightly before tying the ends around her body. She had spoken gently to the stricken woman, but Leliana wasn’t at all sure that Emma had heard her. Her expression was blank, and her eyes glazed.  _ Shock _ , the bard thought. When the shock fell away Emma would either bend or break. Leliana was familiar enough with the experience by now. 

She was closely followed by Alistair who seemed to have taken it upon himself to defend her. Emma still carried her quarterstaff, but Leliana knew that it was her off-hand that grasped it. She would not be able to wield it with any skill. The elder warden held his shield before them both with a grim set to his shoulders, and the hand which gripped his sword was so tight that his leather gloves creaked. His face was slow to recover any color, and although they were all pale with exhaustion, Alistair’s skin was ashen beneath his sunburned cheeks. 

Leliana shook her head — the man cared for Emma. That much was obvious to all of them, but Leliana was worried. His demeanor spoke of trauma of his own. Not that anyone of them would be leaving this tower without nightmares and chills. She considered for a moment the gifts that Mother Dorothea had given her to escape her own terrors. The things that a person experienced lived with them always, and the Fade was devious. It would bring forth memories and sensations both in waking and in rest that could cripple the greatest lords and kings, but the right thoughts and ideas could keep them at bay.

_ Perhaps I can find a way to share these gifts with them without telling them everything.  _ She fell in behind her companions as they stumbled up the steps, leaning heavily on one another.  _ Perhaps it has been long enough. Andraste, give me strength. _

The door at the top of the steps swung open with a shriek, and she heard Daylen yell before it was even halfway ajar. The mage thrust his staff forward and a wave of ice crept over the floor. Wynne threw her own hands up, and a bright flash of light left streaks across Leliana’s vision. She leapt forward, drawing her daggers, and pushed past Alistair who seemed to be stuck between surging forward to assist and protecting Emma. The young woman no longer looked dazed, but the terror on her face was difficult to ignore. 

Leliana made the choice for him. “Keep her back,” she called and dashed up the stairs to enter the next room just behind Elissa. 

Four templars faced them with blades drawn — in front of them, Wynne had been pushed down to her knees. The mage was gasping for air. Her face was drained of blood and her entire frame was shaking. Daylen roared a challenge behind a barrier to her right. A fifth templar lay unmoving just behind him. 

She did not stop to evaluate further than that — Leliana stepped forward to put herself between Wynne and the Templar closest to her. The man was nearly a foot taller than she was, and his face was hidden behind his helmet. He lunged forward, sword coming down from a high angle. Leliana dropped into a more stable stance, and brought her knives up to catch the blow. His shield caught her in the chest a moment later and sent her stumbling back into Wynne. The two women went down but instinct carried Leliana further. She used her momentum to roll back over Wynne’s prone form and pushed herself to her feet. The templar’s sword struck the stone with a shower of sparks. He did not go after Wynne but kept his gaze trained on her. Leliana circled around the other woman and tried to draw the templar away to a space clear of obstacles. He turned with her, and his shield and sword never wavered. Keeping her hips perfectly still to hide her intended motion, she leapt forward and tried to redirect the man’s shield so that she could get inside his reach. His shield was already angled to meet her, and his sword caught her on the arm as she fell back. The former bard hissed in pain.

She could hear Daylen and Elissa shouting close by, but with three other enemies in the room it was unlikely that they could assist her. Leliana planted her rear foot and dropped into a crouch. The templar reacted by bringing his shield around so that the sharpened edge was level with her chest. His sword arm bent at the elbow and drew the hilt of his blade back up to his ear. She flipped the knife in her right hand, caught it, and dropped the blade in her left. He moved at the exact moment she tensed; his sword shot out in a stop thrust that should have gone through her throat but Leliana was already moving. His shield dropped so that it hovered just over the floor and Leliana caught the edge with her free hand to leverage herself up. Her feet replaced her hands and the templar stumbled forward with the extra weight. Using her momentum and extra height, Leliana anchored herself on his pauldron and brought her right hand up to sink her knife into the unarmored skin between chest plate and helmet. Leliana’s weight carried him to the ground as she jumped free and scrambled for her other knife.

Leliana swung around to survey the rest of the room. Daylen was engaged with a single templar intent on bashing his way through a wall of solid ice that the mage now stood behind. Closer to the door, two templars were slowly backing Elissa into a corner. The girl was terrified, and taking every blow on her shield. Her sword lay on the floor some feet away. One of the templars was moving her backward with constant strikes to her shield. The other was waiting patiently just behind them. Leliana started running.

The noblewoman gasped in pain as a particularly brutal blow buckled her shield. Elissa pulled back and dragged her shield along the ground so that her arm was pressed against her chest. The movement left her completely open from both sides with only a crumpled shield to hide behind. Leliana struck her in the side a moment later. Both women fell to the floor as the first templar gave a yell and lunged forward. His blade whistled over their heads as Leliana rolled. She came up just in front of the other templar and realized it too late. She leapt back as his sword shot out and circled back to give herself a better view of the fight. The other templar left Elissa on the floor and came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his companion. Leliana was almost pressed into the corner now and there was no room to maneuver. Both templars were fully armed in plate mail and the long tabards they wore obscured their legs. The former bard glanced around for anything she might be able to use and settled on the broken pieces of a wooden chest tucked into the corner with her. She ducked behind it as the templar to her left lashed out at her and used her weight against the wall to throw it at them.

The wood splintered against the shield of the templar on the right while the one on the left was struck across the face. Without pausing, Leliana moved inside the defenses of the one on the right while his shield was up to deflect the blow. Almost chest-to-chest with him she brought both knives up and under his outstretched arms and plunged them into his chest. He stiffened and Leliana threw his weight away from her, ripping both knives out of her hands, and sending him back into his companion. The other templar skewered his comrade on the end of his blade and howled at Leliana in rage. The former bard reached for her bow, turned, and ran.

She leapt over a table and back towards the door — Daylen met her there with a grim expression and threw his hands up over her head. Heat swept over them and screams filled the room. Leliana gripped the mage’s robes and stared straight ahead. The reek of hot metal and scorched flesh made her gag as the templar behind her was burned alive. 

As the screams faded, the mage dropped his hands and gripped her shoulders. “Are you hurt,” he asked.

Leliana shook her head, “See to Wynne and Elissa first.”

He nodded, “Wynne will be fine. That bastard templar hit her mana first before I skewered him. Take this to her.” He handed her a glowing vial and pushed her in the direction of the old mage. “I’ll take care of Elissa.”

Leliana picked her way across the room to Wynne, and helped the old mage to sit up. She was still ashen and dazed, but snatched the vial out of Leliana’s hands when she offered it to her. Leliana glanced back to where Daylen was bent over Elissa — the girl had tears pouring down her cheeks, but her eyes were tightly shut, and she didn’t make a sound. Daylen very gently unbuckled her shield and rolled back her blood-caked sleeve.

Leliana looked away — Elissa’s forearm was bent at an angle and white bone stuck out at the bend. Daylen spoke to her in a low voice, but it was too soft for Leliana to make out the words. Regardless, she knew that they would be platitudes and nonsense only designed to keep Elissa distracted while he worked. There was a long pause and then a crack which made Leliana jump. Elissa screamed and Daylen swore as the noblewoman tried to wrench herself away from him. Leliana got halfway to her feet before she felt Wynne grip her arm. 

“Leave them,” the old mage ordered her. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Daylen was gently coaxing Elissa to hold her arm back out, but the noblewoman had backed herself against the wall with her arm cradled to her chest again. He knelt in front of her and Elissa cringed back before his hand brushed her forehead and she slumped to the side in sleep. 

“Should have bloody well done that first,” Leliana heard him mutter. She watched as he straightened Elissa’s arm back out. The blue glow from his hands sank through her skin, and Leliana felt her stomach churn as the bone disappeared back under newly knitted flesh. After a moment Daylen sat back on his heels and fumbled for another of the vials at his waist. 

A scuff nearby Leliana’s attention, and she looked up to see Emma standing just inside the door with Alistair just behind her. She was unsteady and nearly swaying on her feet, but her eyes were clear. Her bad arm was still tightly bound to her chest, and her grip on her staff was so tight her knuckles were white. 

“Will she be alright,” Emma asked quietly. 

Leliana swallowed and met her gaze, “I hope so.” She stood and drew Wynne up with her. Whatever the templars had done to her seemed to be fading after she downed the vial of glowing liquid.  _ Lyrium _ , Leliana assumed. The old mage was still pale, but she was able to stand without assistance. Daylen joined them a moment later.

“That was badly done,” he sighed, wiping his hands on his equally filthy robe. “She needs to rest before we continue. I —” he broke off. Leliana frowned and saw that he was looking at something behind them. Reluctant to look away from Elissa, Leliana turned her head.

The sight that greeted her was puzzling — first because she had not noticed it when she had first entered the room, but also because it was simply bizarre. A wall of magical energy separated them from one corner of the room — within it a slumped figure seemed to be bowed over in prayer. Another figure was sitting as close as she could to the wall on the opposite side with a blank expression on her face. She was facing them, but was huddled over as if she wished to disappear from sight. 

Leliana heard Daylen shout before he began pushing past them. He leapt over the bodies of the fallen templars to approach the girl sitting beside the glowing wall. She looked up at him, but her expression did but change. However, the figure within the cage did respond. He surged forward with a furious expression and began screaming at the mage. 

___

_ The Maker has a sense of humor. _ Alistair let his shield drop and sheathed his sword, wincing at the blood he knew was still drying along its length. He would have to pry it loose once this was all done and soak the sheath to get it all out. It would still bear stains no matter what he did. Maybe the mages had some neat trick for getting stains out.  _ Think of the progress that could be made in the world of tailoring. It would almost justify this whole slaughter of innocents bit. _

He put his hand on the small of Emma’s back and helped her over the mess in the center of the room — she was stumbling often which he assumed was a consequence of her missing limb. She was also favoring one leg slightly. He frowned and then winced. She had tried to kick him with that leg. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had broken her foot against his greaves. Still, she was up and moving. In the long minutes after the mages had removed her arm, Alistair was afraid she wouldn’t be able to face it. She was shaking so hard. It wasn’t until they had made it to the top of the stairs that she seemed to settle back into herself. He kept her behind him as Leliana and Elissa moved to engage the line of templars facing them. He stood there grimly keeping himself between her and the fighting.

Now they stood in front of the magical cage in the corner of the room — the barrier made his teeth feel fuzzy in his mouth, and he could feel a headache building at the base of his skull. That had to be nothing beside what Cullen was going through. The templar was on his feet. He was no longer shouting, but he watched them all warily. His gaze swept over them always going back to the dark haired woman pressed against the wall. She had a heart-shaped face and her robes hung loosely around her. Her dark hair was matted with blood running from a cut high on her forehead. Her arms were also bleeding. Daylen was bent over her with his hands glowing with healing magic. 

Alistair looked back at the templar, “Cullen.” The other man’s head snapped up. “What happened?”

For a moment there was no recognition at all in his face, and then his expression became almost suspicious. “Alistair? What is this nonsense? Begone demons. I will not fall prey to your tricks.” He closed his eyes and turned away from them. 

Alistair felt Emma’s good hand grip his arm — both to get his attention and because she was swaying on her feet. “You know him,” she asked. 

“From the monastery, yes. We trained together.” She nodded, gaze fixed on the other man. 

“We are not demons, young man,” Wynne lifted her chin and pointed at Cullen. She was addressing him like he was an errant child. “Now tell us what happened here.”

Cullen opened his eyes, “You’re still here?” He took a step back from the barrier. “But that’s always worked before.”

“We are not visions or demons, Cullen Rutherford,” Emma’s voice rang out, and Alistair glanced at her in surprise. He didn’t think he’d mentioned Cullen’s last name. “We’re not here to harm you,” she continued. “We’re here to help, but we need you to tell us what happened.”

The templar shook his head, but seemed to accept them for the moment. “The mages began summoning demons. They cut down my brothers and sisters. They lured others with false promises. They put me in this cage when I would not break.” He was breathing heavily, and his gaze moved again to the dark haired girl. “They tortured me, and when I did not give in they found Solona and tortured her in front of me. They knew. They knew that I – that I cared for —“

Daylen suddenly cut him off. “That you cared for her,” the mage shouted. He towered over them all as he straightened up to his full height.

“We do not have time for this,”Wynne interjected glaring at the other mage. “Where is the First Enchanter?”

Cullen didn’t even look in Wynne’s direction, “They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The screams I have heard —“

“That’s enough,” Wynne snapped. “Let us finish this.”

“Wait!” Cullen pressed against the walls of his prison. “You have not heard what I have. You must kill them all. No one could have survived such agony intact!”

Daylen took a step forward “You bloody templar bastard —“

“Enough,” Emma yelled. Alistair reached out to hold her up as she swayed. She fixed her gaze in Cullen, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The templar looked at her. Emma’s voice gentled. “Cullen, what’s happened to you is awful. You have every right to be angry, but turning that anger on the people here will only lead to more pain.”

Daylen snorted loudly and all eyes turned to him. “Warden,” he called. “Put her here beside Solona and get ready to fight.” 

“No,” Emma surged forward and almost lost her footing. “I can help!”

Daylen’s irritation gave way to something more gentle as he looked at her. The mage sighed, “You cannot do anything to help us, lass. You can barely walk now.”

Her jaw was set, “Give me the litany. Anyone can read it, right? I can do that much.”

Daylen glanced at Wynne but the old mage just frowned. After a moment he turned back to her, “You read and you keep reading and you stay away from all of the fighting. You understand that? I’ll not have you dying after all of this.”

Emma gripped Alistair’s arm in a vice grip. “I understand.”

———

“I have never been more happy to see you,” the First Enchanter struggled to his feet as Wynne went to check on him. Emma let her arm and did her best to roll the litany back up with her left hand. She had read the damn thing so many times she was nearly hoarse. Not to mention the fact that she’d been reading it while running from demons and blood mages. Once they identified the scroll in her hands, the mages had come after her with a vengeance. Thankfully, Leliana was faster and the pride demon had been occupied with Alistair and Daylen at the center of the room.

She slumped against the wall and let herself slide down to the floor. Adrenaline had kept her on her feet during the fight, but it was leaving her abandoned on the doorstep now. Her head was swimming and her arm ached. It was hard not to think about the fact that she was now missing an essential part of herself. Her brain wasn’t interested in actually facing it just yet, but it was hard to ignore the lack of coordination and the loss of balance that came with it. She was momentarily very grateful that Wynne had bound her arm. It was easier to ignore it that way. 

Wynne and Daylen made their way around the chamber to check on each of the still breathing mages and their companions — after having a long gash in his thighs knitted back together Alistair limped over and dropped down beside her. 

“Please tell me you knew that we were going to win all along,” he said, staring straight ahead. His tone was light, but his skin was a little too grey for her liking. 

“Of course,” she returned. 

That made him turn to look at her, “Wait. Really?”

Emma tried to smile, “Yes, Alistair. Really.” She kept her gaze level with his to show that she meant it. He returned her smile after a moment and reached out to take her good hand in his. 

“Thank you,” was all he said before pushing himself back up to his feet. Wynne was walking towards them with the First Enchanter. Daylen and Leliana were close behind. 

“You have my sincere gratitude,” the First Enchanter said with a half bow. He was clearly doing much better after a dose of healing magic and a bit of water. He was also far cleaner than any of them were. “The Circle is at your disposal. Whatever we can do to assist you, we will see it done.”

She glanced at Alistair to find him watching her and waiting for  _ her _ answer. “Thank you, First Enchanter.” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “The Grey Wardens need your assistance to defeat the Blight.” She hesitated, considering her audience before she continued. “There is also a young boy in Redcliff who is possessed. We need mages and lyrium to ensure he is released from the demon.”

Surprise flashed across Irving’s face, but he hid it well. Wynne, on the other hand, watched her with an open suspicion that made her skin crawl. 

“Is that why you came to the Circle, then,” she demanded. 

“It’s one of the reasons, yes.” 

Emma saw Daylen glance at his mentor and then back to her. His face was carefully neutral. “Regardless of their reasons, we should all get back to the gates before the templars get their right underway.” He gestured to Emma. “Can you walk?”

She nodded and reached out to leverage herself up —forgetting about her missing hand. She swore and lost her balance. 

“Maker’s breath, woman,” she heard Alistair mutter under his breath as she struggled to sit back up. His hands closed around her good arm and he put it around his neck before lifting her off the floor. Emma started to protest, but with a glance at his face the words died in her throat.

The warden carried her back down the stairs where they found Cullen, newly freed, standing as far from Solona as he possibly could. Emma glanced over Alistair’s shoulder to see Daylen’s jaw clench. He gently helped Solona to her feet and supported her across the room before waking Elissa from her forced rest. The small group made it back through the floor below them and only briefly paused before entering the library. The entire room was empty and the teeming mass they had seen earlier was gone without a trace. They collected the children and apprentices that Wynne had protected and approached the doors leading to the entry hall. 

The doors opened the moment that Irving touched them, and they were greeted by a wall of terrified templars all clutching swords. Greaigor was standing in the middle of the group and was the first to lower his blade. “Irving,” he said shortly. “I am glad to see that you still live.”

“As am I,” Irving returned. “Now, would you be so kind as to call off the Right of Annulment?”

Greaigor let the question hang unanswered for an ugly moment before he nodded. Emma released her tight grip on Alistair’s shoulder before slumping back against his chest. The steady beat of his heart had a lulling effect that was making it hard to keep on top of everything around her. An angry shout a moment later drew her attention back to the conversation, however. 

Cullen was standing in front of Greaigor with a furious expression. He was shaking with the strain of simply standing by this point. “We cannot let them live, Knight-Commander! We have no way of knowing whether they hold demons within them, waiting to strike.”

“The same could be said of you, boy,” Greaigor snapped, and Cullen reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Our charge is to protect the mages in this tower, or did you forget that because of a pretty face?  _ Again? _ ” His gaze swept over the quiet figure of Solona. Emma saw Daylen’s grip tighten around her. 

Cullen’s face was pale, “Knight-Commander, I —“

“Enough,” Greaigor barked. “Get out of my sight.” Cullen flushed an ugly red and ducked behind his commander to stand with the remaining templars. He kept his eyes on the floor.

Emma felt a moment of pity for him — she knew that her companions likely saw his request as warmongering, but she couldn’t help but think of the events to come in Kirkwall. Cullen didn’t deserve ridicule, and he would need support to get through the next ten years. 

Irving and Greaigor stepped to the side to begin discussing the logistics of restoring the circle with so few people and so little time — the templars returned to their stations in the hall, casting worried glances back at the open doors and the people standing beyond them. Wynne pulled Daylen aside, and Leliana came to stand beside Alistair. Elissa stood a little ways away looking pointedly away from them. 

Emma frowned. She wasn’t sure why Elissa was keeping her distance and opened her mouth to ask the noblewoman as much when Leliana’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Don’t,” the bard said. “I will speak to her when we are all clean and rested.”

Emma frowned. “She’s avoiding you?”

Leliana nodded. “I am not sure why, but the center of a room full of people would be a foolish place to start that conversation, no?”

Emma nodded, accepting the bard’s request. “I guess you’re right about that.” She looked around the room in front of them, and her eyes settled on Cullen. “Alistair, can you put me down?”

The man hesitated a moment before gently placing her feet on the floor — her balance was still poor and she swayed for a moment before steadying herself. “I’ll be right back.”

Daylen and Wynne were speaking in low voices, and they cut off abruptly when she approached. Wynne was still watching her with intense suspicion on her face, and Emma did her best not to waver under the older woman’s scrutiny. She was going to have a very unpleasant conversation or two to face after all of this was done.

She took a deep breath, “Daylen, is there any chance that there’s another copy of this?” She held out the Litany of Adralla.

The mage seemed surprised, “Aye. There are quite a few in the Circle. Why?”

“Because I know someone who needs it far more than we do,” she replied as evenly as she could. 

Daylen’s eyes narrowed, “If you mean that bloody templar –“

“Yes. I do,” Emma said quietly. Daylen frowned at her. 

“Why?”

“Because he was just tortured by demons. Because he’s going to live a life where he is constantly in fear of his mind being manipulated or of being too weak to withstand it.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He’s a templar, and he joined the order to help people. All of that has just been twisted by what he’s been through. The Chantry will take advantage of that, and do its best to make him into another one of their pawns. He needs help. He needs support and tools to help him to make sure that never happens.” She reached out with her good hand and touched Daylen’s arm. “The litany could help him feel safe in his own mind. It would protect him from the threats the Chantry will convince him are there.”

Daylen glanced behind her to where the templar still stood, “Why do you care about him? What is he? An old sweetheart of yours? Having regrets about your Warden, lass?”

Emma was caught off guard by this, “My Warden?”

Daylen waved his hand impatiently and leaned forward, “That man is the reason my cousin was made tranquil. Irving pushed for them to put her through the Harrowing. He told the whole Circle that Solona had been acting on his orders when she went with Jowan. Greaigor refused. He wanted to make an example of her. Irving gave in, and nothing I said would change his mind after that. She became that stupid bastard’s punishment for getting too friendly.” His voice rose until Wynne put her hand on his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and dropped his voice. “You said you knew my cousin, lass. You really want to help the man who killed her?”

“She isn’t dead,” Emma snapped.

Daylen stared at her for a long moment before turning away, “She might as well be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like mages in Thedas have to have a lot of cognitive dissonance going on. Like, on the one hand living outside the Circle is miserable in most situations. You're basically stuck hiding from everyone your entire life, and you have this constant fear that you're going to slip up and get caught. In which case, you'll either be killed or sent to the Circle. On the other hand, if you're in the Circle you're safe from the whole being burned at the stake thing – hello, early European witch hunts – but the templars pretty much control your life. Like, shitty templars are born, but they're also made because god-forbid anyone actually have a decent conversation in the Circle or treat each other like people. 
> 
> I have a lot of feelings about Circle politics, too. Daylen and Wynne are both part of the Aequitarians, but Daylen has been getting really anti-Chantry lately which I can't really blame him for. Like, the thing he most wants is a family. Solona is the only family he has, and the templars took her from him.


End file.
